JC-N 


,OKJ 


ASCARLL: 

AND 

OTHER  STORIES 


A  Scarlet  Poppy 

and 

Other  Stories 


BY 

HARRIET  PRESCOTT  SPOFFORD 


NEW     YORK 
HARPER     &     BROTHERS     PUBLISHERS 


1894 


HARPER'S  AMERICAN  STORY-TELLERS. 
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NOWADAYS,  AND  OTHER  STORIES.  By  GEORGE 
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RIES.    By  BRANDER  MATTHEWS.    Illustrated.   $1  25. 

THE  PRIVATE  LIFE.     Three  Stories.     By  HENRY 
JAMES.    $i  oo. 

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JAMES.     $i  oo. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

ESP"  The  above  works  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers, 
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Copyright,  1894,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  rtset-veJ. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A    SCARLET    POPPY ,       .          I 

BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 29 

AN    IDEAL 87 

MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON      .     .     .     .107 
THE  TRAGIC  STORY  OF  BINNS      .     .     .175 

THE  COMPOSITE  WIFE 215 

MR.  VAN  NORE'S  DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.     .  263 


394428 


A  SCARLET   POPPY 


A   SCARLET   POPPY 

"!T  was  only  a  quarter  of  a  dollar, 
Mark." 

"  Only  a  quarter  of  a  dollar!  It  isn't  that 
quarter  I  complain  of ;  it  is  its  multiplica 
tion.  Four  of  them  make  a  dollar.  How 
often  have  I  told  you,  Helena,  that  the  lit 
tle  foxes — " 

"  Oh,  so  often  that  I'd  like  to  be  in  at  the 
death  of  them  all,  and  hang  up  the  last 
brush  on  the  wall !" 

"  Very  likely.  That's  quite  in  character. 
I  fancy  there'd  be  no  wall  to  hang  it  on  by 
that  time,  though.  That's  all,"  pushing  back 
his  coffee-cup. 

"  How  perfectly  absurd  you  are,  Mark ! 
Because  I  buy  a  scarlet  paper  poppy  with  a 
black  curled  paper  heart,  eight  inches  in 
diameter,  to  hang  outside  a  lamp-shade,  and 
pay  twenty-five  cents  for  it,  you  are  brought 


4  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

to  the  verge  of  bankruptcy  and  I  am  to  be 
reduced  to  beggary !" 

"  It  isn't  the  poppy  at  all.     It's—" 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  might  commit  that 
extravagance  every  day  if  I  wished  and  not 
ruin  you.  Three  hundred  and  sixty -five 
quarters  —  ninety-one  dollars  a  year.  How 
poor  you  must  be  if  ninety-one  dollars  a 
year  can  put  you  into  insolvency !  But  I 
don't  wish.  I — " 

"  It  isn't  the  poppy  at  all  "—his  face 
growing  purple. 

"  Oh  no,  it  isn't  the  poppy ;  it's  the  twen 
ty-five  cents.  It  isn't  this  poppy  ;  it's  the 
next  one,"  clasping  her  pretty  hands  behind 
her  head,  as  she  leaned  back  in  an  insolence 
of  attitude. 

"  It  isn't  the  poppy  at  all ;  it's  the  prin 
ciple,"  cried  the  exasperated  Mr.  Dunmore 
at  last,  raising  his  voice  so  that  it  could  be 
heard  over  his  wife's  treble,  and  over  the 
screaming  of  the  wild  March  gale  outside. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  his  wife  then,  "if 
you  choose  to  talk  to  me  in  that  tone,  it's 
the  end  of  argument.  I  can't  roar,  and  the 
strong  lungs  have  it.  But  it's  very  ungen- 


A    SCARLET    POPPY  5 

tlemanly  and  unhandsome.  It's  quite  as 
mean  as  grudging  me  the  original  twenty-five 
cents  for  a  decoration  to  my  lamp-shade." 

"  Helena,  I  can't  allow  you  to  go  on  in 
this  way." 

"  You  can't  allow  me  !  As  if  I  were  go 
ing  to  ask  you  to  allow  me  !  I  should  sup 
pose  it  was  time  you  entered  sufficiently  into 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  Mark,  to  know  that 
wives  nowadays  are  not  slaves.  They  are 
not  allowed  or  disallowed.  And  they  can 
spend  twenty-five  cents  without  asking ;  es 
pecially  if  it's  their  own,"  added  Mrs.  Dun- 
more,  with  sharp  emphasis,  her  great  blue 
eyes  sparkling  in  a  way  that  great  blue  eyes 
can  on  occasion.  "  Go,  lie  down,  Sauveur  !" 
as  the  big  St.  Bernard,  aware  that  something 
was  wrong,  came  and  laid  his  nose  on  her 
arm. 

"Very  well,  then,  Helena,"  said  Mr. 
Dunmore,  with  great  severity ;  "  since 
you  drive  me  to  it — when  it  is  your  own." 

"Really?"  said  the  young  woman,  with  a 
severity  quite  as  cold  as  his  own.  "  How 
long  since  my  own  income  ceased  to  be  mine  ? 
I  don't  think  my  poor  father  when  he  left 


6  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

me  my  little  property  ever  had  an  idea  that 
any  one  was  going  to  deny  its  being  my  own. 
1  Free  from  marital  control,'  he  said,"  cried 
Mrs.  Dunmore,  triumphantly.  "'Free  from 
marital  control,'  "  she  repeated,  with  force. 
"  Does  that  mean  that  you,  or  that  I,  have 
the  spending  of  it  ?" 

"  You,  assuredly,  Helena,"  said  Mr.  Dun- 
more,  with  more  calmness.  "  How  many 
times  this  year  have  you  had  the  spending 
of  it  already  ?" 

"  I  must  say,  Mr.  Dunmore,  I  fail  to  un 
derstand  you." 

"I  will  enlighten  you.  When  you  made 
your  Christmas  presents  on  a  scale  entirely 
incommensurate  with  our  means,  and  I  re 
monstrated,  you  said  you  were  going  to  pay 
for  them  all  yourself  out  of  your  January  div 
idends.  But  when  your  January  dividends 
came  in,  the  bill  for  your  new  cloak  came 
also  and  took  the  whole  sum." 

"  Most  men  pay  for  their  wives'  cloaks 
themselves,"  said  Mrs.  Dunmore,  with  some 
bitterness. 

"Not  when  their  wives  order  four- hun 
dred-dollar  cloaks,  and  they  can  only  afford 


A   SCARLET   POPPY  7 

one -hundred -dollar  ones  without  running 
into  debt." 

"  You  have  brought  me  up  here  into  this 
frigid  zone  of  a  climate,  Mr.  Dunmore,  and 
I  certainly  expected  before  I  came  to  be 
clothed  sufficiently  to  meet  the  rigor  of  the 
weather." 

"  You  are,"  said  her  husband.  "  And  you 
were  before  you  spent  the  whole  of  your 
January  dividends  to  pay  for  a  seal -skin 
cloak.  However,  that's  neither  here  nor 
there.  It  became  necessary  then,  after  the 
system  of  genteel  beggary  in  our  civilization, 
to  make  Laura  Kerna  a  wedding  present." 

"We  didn't  have  any  wedding  presents 
ourselves,  I  suppose  !"  said  the  wife,  wither- 
ingly. 

"  And  I  thought  one  of  the  twelve  ladles 
that  were  given  to  us  would  do." 

"The  idea!  So  perfectly  disgraceful! 
Some  men  haven't  any  sentiment,"  address 
ing  the  universe. 

"  And  you  insisted  on  nothing  less  than  a 
gold-mounted  vinaigrette." 

"Dear  knows  she'll  need  it,  if  all  hus 
bands  are  alike." 


8  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

"  And  you  would  pay  for  it  out  of  your 
January  dividends,"  said  her  husband,  not 
noticing  her  interpolations.  "  But  close  upon 
that  came  my  birthday,  and  you  wished  me 
to  make  myself  a  present  of  a  new  watch  ; 
and  when  I  said  it  was  impossible,  you  said 
you  would  pay  for  it  out  of  your  dividend." 

"  If  I   ever  heard  of   such  unparalleled 


meanness  ! 


"  A  little  later,  when  we  were  getting  a 
fresh  carpet  for  the  drawing-room,  and  I 
thought  Brussels  would  do,  and  you  declared 
for  Wilton,  you  assured  me  that  you  were 
to  pay  for  that  out  of  your  dividend." 

"  Well,  if  I  couldn't  carpet  my  own  house, 
I  wouldn't  twit  my  wife  for  doing  it." 

"  You  said  the  same  about  the  India  rug 
you  ordered  home  without  consultation,  at 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  It  is  a  beauty, 
of  course ;  I  admit  your  taste ;  it  is  soft  as  vel 
vet,  and  colored  with  sunbeams.  But  I  knew 
if  I  paid  for  that  I  must  go  without  paying 
for  something  else ;  and  you  said  you  would 
pay  for  it  yourself  with  your  dividend." 

"  Pshaw  !" 

"You  must  remember  that  you  wanted 


A    SCARLET    POPPY  g 

some  moonstones,  when  they  came  into 
fashion ;  for  luck,  you  said ;  and  about  the 
same  time  a  tall  piano-lamp ;  and,  not  long 
after,  a  big  Limoges  vase ;  and  in  spite  of 
my  reluctance — " 

"  Reluctance !" 

"  You  got  them  all,  and  charged  them  to 
your  dividend  again." 

"  But,  Mark—" 

"  Pardon  me  !  The  next  thing  that  arose 
was  the  necessity  of  educating  that  young 
lad  in  art ;  and  as  I  didn't  have  that  money 
to  spare,  you  drew  the  money  from  the 
house-keeping  fund,  and  said  you  would  re 
place  it  from  your  dividend.  Then  you 
started  to  go  down  to  the  city  and  attend 
the  Friday  afternoon  concerts,  for  which 
your  ticket  cost  thirty-five  dollars,  and  that 
of  a  companion  thirty-five  more ;  and  when 
you  were  snowed  in  on  the  train,  in  just  such 
a  storm  as  this,  if  there  ever  was  such  a 
storm  before,  and  obliged  to  have  a  doctor, 
and  a  set  of  bills— ever  so  little  ashamed, 
perhaps,  that  your  folly  had  brought  about 
such  unlooked-for  expense  —  you  said  you 
could  settle  all  that  with  your  dividend. 


10  A   SCARLET    POPPY 

How  many  times  do  you  think  you  have 
used  up  your  dividend  money  already  ?  Do 
you  think,  this  March  morning,  there  is 
twenty-five  dollars  or  twenty-five  cents  of  it 
left  ?  And  don't  you  know  that  my  one  wish 
in  life  is  to  keep  out  of  debt,  that  if  I  am 
called  off  suddenly  there  may  be  something 
to  take  care  of  you  with? — you  who  spend 
recklessly  many  times  your  own  income 
every  year,  and  would  mine  if  you  could 
get  at  it !  I  shall  make  a  will  the  next  time 
I  go  to  town,  Helena,"  said  Mr.  Dunmore 
solemnly,  "  in  which  I  shall  put  every  dollar  of 
my  property  in  trust ;  for  you  are  not  fit  to  be 
charged  with  a  bank-note.  Money  melts  out 
of  your  hands  like  morning  dew,  and  you  may 
be  the  most  beautiful  and  winning  woman 
in  the  world,  but  in  money  matters  you  are 
a  child.  You  never  go  into  a  shop  without 
telling  the  dealer  how  cheap  his  goods  are, 
and  asking  him  if  he  can't  take  a  little  more." 
"  I  won't  listen  to  another  word  you  say," 
cried  Mrs.  Helena,  springing  to  her  feet. 
"  I  knew  you  were  so  careful  as  to  be  canny. 
I  never  knew  a  person  with  Scotch  blood  in 
him  that  wasn't.  So  proud  of  your  Scotch 


A   SCARLET   POPPY  n 

blood  as  you  are!  But  I  didn't  suppose 
you  looked  askance  at  your  own  wife's  doc 
tor's  bills.  I'll  pay  them  myself  out  of  my 
very  next  dividend,  that  I  will  !  I  never 
imagined  you  wanted  me  to  stay  stived  up  in 
a  prison-house,  going  without  pleasure  or 
society.  If  it  costs  you  so  much  more  than 
you  can  afford  to  keep  me,  I  can  go  to  my 
aunt  Potter's.  And  I  will  go,  this  very  day." 

"  Hardly,"  said  Mr.  Dunmore,  looking  out 
of  the  window  at  the  storm,  whose  clouds 
of  flying  snow  hid  even  the  great  mountain 
shapes  from  view. 

"  I  don't  know  why  the  storm  should  stop 
me.  It  isn't  any  colder  than  my  husband's 
heart,"  said  Mrs.  Dunmore.  "  And  I'd  as 
lief  hear  it  now  as  hear  you.  It  will  be  April 
and  spring  to-morrow,  and  no  storm  to  be 
seen,  but  it  will  always  be  winter  in  your 
heart.  You  can  leave  your  money,  that 
you  treasure  so  much  more  than  you  do 
my  happiness,  where  you  please.  I  don't 
want  any  of  it,  or  anything  else  that  belongs 
to  you.  I  wish  I  was  dead  and  out  of  your 
way  !  You  can  keep  it  for  your  second  wife 
to  spend,  if  she  can  get  hold  of  it,  which  is 


12  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

more  than  I  can  do.  I  never  want  to  look 
upon  your  face  again  !  If  there's  anything 
in  the  world  detestable  to  me  it's  mean 
ness  and  stinginess  and  parsimony  and  mi 
serliness  and —  And  here,  words  failing 
her  and  tears  coming  in  their  stead,  Mrs. 
Dunmore  rushed  from  the  room  and  sought 
the  seclusion  of  her  bedchamber,  where  she 
hid  her  head  in  the  pillows  and  cried  her 
self  into  hysterics.  And  Mr.  Dunmore,  feel 
ing  that  the  house  was  far  too  hot  to  hold 
him,  strode  into  the  hall,  and  put  on  his  great 
fur  overcoat,  and  buckled  the  hood  about  his 
ears,  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him,  re 
fusing  to  wait  for  the  stout  cob  that  usually 
bore  him,  and  going  out  afoot  into  a  storm 
that  was  no  fiercer  than  the  one  raging  with 
in  him  at  that  moment. 

A  pretty  sort  of  a  home  he  had!  his 
thoughts  ran.  The  hospitality  of  the  tem 
pest  was  gentleness  beside  it.  A  shrew  and 
a  vixen  and  a  spendthrift  for  a  wife,  who 
cared  nothing  for  him  but  what  she  could 
get  out  of  him,  and  made  no  acknowledgment 
of  that ;  who  scorned  and  flouted  and  fleered 
him,  had  no  regard  for  his  feelings,  called 


A   SCARLET   POPPY  13 

him — called  him  names !  What  a  fool  he  was 
to  submit  to  it !  Why  didn't  he  send  her — 
why  didn't  he  send  her  back  to  her  aunt  Pot 
ter's,  and  sell  out,  and  clear  out  himself  ?  This 
life  he  lived  was — it  was  no  use  saying  what 
it  was  !  It  was  the  life  to  come,  and  he  had 
been  damned  into  it !  He  wished  he  had 
never  seen  her  face  !  What  an  idiot  a  man 
was  to  give  up  his  peace,  his  liberty,  his  pleas 
ure,  his  everything,  for  the  sake  of  compan 
ionship  with  a  woman  who  thwarted  him  at 
every  turn,  in  his  feelings,  his  wishes,  his 
will,  till  there  was  no  peace  in  the  house,  and 
a  struggle  with  the  wildest  storm  that  ever 
blew  was  rest,  was  relief  from  home  and  her  ! 
And  in  a  white  heat  of  angry  commotion  he 
plunged  along,  he  hardly  knew  and  hardly 
cared  whither,  although  really  bound  for  the 
upper  fields,  in  order  to  give  some  directions 
to  the  shepherds  of  the  great  sheep  farm  he 
carried  on.  And  the  wind  roared  above  him 
and  about  him  unheeded  as,  with  head  bent 
forward  and  hands  clenched  in  his  pockets, 
he  labored  on  ;  and  the  snow  whirled  and  fell 
and  rose  again,  and  built  up  its  fantastic 
drifts  on  either  side,  and,  occupied  in  his 


I4  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

bitter    musings,   he    saw   and    heard    none 
of  it. 

And  none  of  it  did  Mrs.  Helena  hear  or 
see,  with  her  head  buried  in  her  pillows,  cry 
ing  now  partly  with  pity  of  her  own  wretch 
edness,  partly  in  the  subsidence  of  her  anger 
at  she  hardly  knew  what,  and  partly  with  the 
unspent  force  of  her  nervous  agitation.  Oc 
casionally  she  sat  up  and  twisted  the  long 
coil  of  her  fallen  hair,  and  enjoyed  a  sensa 
tion  as  if  she  were  in  some  manner  wringing 
her  hands  and  tearing  her  hair.  She  called 
herself  the  most  miserable  woman  under  the 
sun,  condemned  to  a  living  prison,  bound  to 
a  man  who  detested  her,  and  whom  she — 
yes,  whom  she  detested  !  A  man  ?  A  brute  ! 
Oh,  why  had  she  ever  given  herself  up  to 
such  a  fate  ?  What  was  there  she  had  seen 
in  him  in  the  first  place  ?  \Yhy  hadn't  she  di 
vined  his  sordid  and  tyrannical  nature  then  ? 
Why  had  she  let  herself  be  overcome  by  his 
false  promises,  his  smile,  his  face  that  used 
to  seem  to  her  like  the  face  of  a  god,  and 
now  was  that  of  a  satyr — yes,  of  a  satyr  !  A 
great  bluff  wind  -  blown  satyr  !  How  infa 
mously  he  had  talked  to  her  about  her  divi- 


A   SCARLET    POPPY  15 

dend  !  He  grudged  her  the  clothes  she  put 
on ;  she  was  a  burden  to  him,  and  he  made 
her  feel  it,  and,  quite  unconscious  of  the  un 
commonly  congenial  feeling  in  this  regard, 
she  wished  she  had  never  laid  eyes  on  him. 
It  was  a  shame  for  a  man  to  treat  his  wife 
so  !  And  there  was  more  crying  and  wring 
ing  of  hands ;  and  then  the  great  shoulder 
of  the  gale  came  pushing  against  the  house 
so  it  startled  her  and  made  her  shudder, 
and  she  lay  back  silent  a  moment,  and  then 
bunched  the  pillow  about  her  ears,  and  in 
five  minutes,  worn  out  with  her  temper  and 
her  tantrum,  was  fast  asleep. 

And  Mr.  Dunmore,  with  the  gale  whistling 
about  his  ears,  ploughed  his  way  along  the 
hillside  to  the  upper  farms,  more  to  satisfy 
himself  that  the  sheep  were  all  folded  than 
for  anything  else,  now  and  then  shaking  the 
snow  from  his  shoulders  as  a  shaggy  dog 
shakes  off  water-drops,  and  again  bending  his 
head  and  working  onward,  the  new  snow 
already  ankle-deep  and  drifting  wildly  with 
the  wind  that  at  every  gust  seemed  to  blow 
more  fiercely.  At  last  he  reached  the  little 
house  of  the  shepherds,  all  glowing  with  his 


16  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

successful  struggle  with  the  storm,  and  half 
forgetful  of  the  rage  with  which  he  at  first 
dashed  into  it ;  quite  forgetful  before  his 
business  with  the  shepherds  was  entirely  fin 
ished,  having  disburdened  his  mind  of  all 
that  had  been  weighing  on  it,  feeling  in  a 
somewhat  forgiving  mood  towards  his  irate 
little  wife,  who,  after  all,  was  not  so  much  to 
blame,  he  said  to  himself ;  only  a  pretty  wom 
an  a  little  spoiled,  who  liked  to  have  pretty 
things  about  her.  He  would  go  into  town 
himself  to-morrow,  and  get  her  that  Royal 
Worcester  she  had  been  longing  for,  the 
poor  child !  Perhaps  he  had  been  too  se 
vere  :  it  was  the  coffee  —  strong  coffee  al 
ways  did  fire  up  his  nerves.  A  man  was 
a  wretch  to  talk  so  to  a  woman,  anyway. 
And  thus  rambling  on  in  his  thoughts, 
he  took  the  path  down  the  hill,  hardly  re 
membering  the  tempest  that  hurtled  round 
him,  until  all  at  once  he  felt  as  if  it  were 
making  him  its  ral lying-point,  and  found  that 
it  was  all  he  could  do,  by  summoning  his 
strength,  to  stand  up  against  it,  while  it  sift 
ed  its  fine  icy  particles  under  his  coat  and 
in  about  his  neck  and  shoulders  and  ears  in 


A   SCARLET   POPPY  17 

a  way  to  make  him  eager  to  get  out  of  its 
reach.  No  matter ;  a  storm  on  the  last  day 
of  March  couldn't  amount  to  much,  even  up 
in  these  New  Hampshire  hills.  It  would 
soon  blow  over.  He  would  leave  the  ex 
posed  and  winding  highway,  take  the  short 
cut  across  the  fields  and  down  through  the 
sheltered  piece  of  wood,  and  so  get  home 
in  time  for  lunch.  He  rather  pictured  Hel 
ena  to  himself,  as  forgiving  as  he  was, 
dressed  in  her  pretty  tea -gown  of  green 
plush  and  white  and  gold,  waiting  for  him 
at  the  head  of  a  lunch-table  set  with  espe 
cial  nicety. 

But  Mr.  Dunmore  made  a  mistake  when 
he  left  the  open  road.  Let  it  wind  about  as  it 
would,  it  had  its  protected  sides  and  places, 
and  at  the  end  arrived.  But  these  pathless 
wastes  of  the  open  pastures,  snowed  over 
and  utterly  unprotected,  arrived  nowhere. 
Turning  his  back  once  or  twice  on  some 
broader  pressure  of  the  blast,  he  failed  to 
orient  himself;  he  could  not  see  a  rod  be 
fore  him  for  the  driving  snow ;  he  ought  by 
this  time  to  be  near  the  end,  but  there  was 
nothing  of  the  little  piece  of  wood  to  be  seen 


IS  A   SCARLET    POPPY 

or  guessed  ;  he  attempted  to  go  back  and  re 
cover  the  main  road  ;  he  paused  at  length,  a 
mere  atom  in  all  the  wide  whirl  and  bluster 
of  the  storm,  uncertain  if  the  way  led  to  left 
or  right,  before  him  or  behind.  He  began 
to  feel  some  slight  apprehension  then.  He 
remembered  all  the  dreadful  stories  he  had 
read  of  Highland  shepherds  and  their  sheep 
in  mountain  snow-storms;  and  all  at  once  he 
saw  that  he,  too,  in  the  bitterest  blowing  gale 
of  the  winter,  had  lost  his  way  upon  the  hill. 
Very  cold  and  very  tired,  half-desperate  too, 
he  thought  a  moment  of  sitting  down  to 
rest.  But  that  would  never  do,  and  he  took 
heart  of  grace  and  plodded  and  struggled 
on,  only  succeeding  in  making  sure  that  he 
was  going  down  the  hill  and  not  up,  but  not 
at  all  sure  that  he  was  not  skirting  the  hill 
to  arrive  at  the  stream  and  the  houseless 
banks  of  the  other  side  of  the  mountain  ;  not 
at  all  sure  either  that  in  the  dizzy  blindness 
of  the  snow  the  next  step  might  not  lead  him 
over  some  precipitous  rock  and  out  into  noth 
ingness.  He  paused  to  thrill  at  the  thought, 
and  then  he  lurched  on  again.  At  any  rate, 
his  only  salvation  lay  in  keeping  in  mo- 


A   SCARLET   POPPY  19 

tion ;  it  was  of  no  use  to  halloo ;  although 
he  tried  it  once  or  twice,  the  gale  blew  his 
voice  back  down  his  throat  and  made  him 
feel  a  more  powerless  mote  than  before,  and 
he  plunged  along  conscious  that  he  must 
have  wandered  wide  of  the  mark,  and  that 
the  day  must  be  drawing  to  a  close.  Hel 
ena,  in  her  pretty  gown  at  that  pretty  lunch 
eon-table,  began  to  fade  out  of  his  mental 
view.  She  had  waited  for  him,  doubtless, 
hoping  he  would  come  back  in  better  hu 
mor.  She  had  forgiven  him.  She  would  be 
thinking  he  was  still  in  a  rage  with  her.  She 
— she  might  never  know  that  he  had  for 
given  her. 

For  Mr.  Dunmore  was  now  acknowledg 
ing  to  himself  what  he  had  only  dimly  and 
unconsciously  felt  before,  that  it  was  doubt 
ful  if  the  night  did  not  overtake  him  up  here 
in  this  pathless  wilderness  of  snow  and  wind 
and  fury,  and  bring  death  to  him  upon  its 
wings.  But  not  if  he  could  help  it.  His 
heart  beat  up  strongly  with  his  determina 
tion,  and  he  swung  his  arms  and  shook  his 
shoulders,  and  still  waded  downward  through 
the  drifts.  It  was  hard  to  move  one  foot  be- 


20  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

fore  the  other  in  the  heavy  snow-fall ;  hard 
to  breathe  in  the  force  of  the  gale ;  impos 
sible  to  hear  anything  but  the  resonance  of 
the  great  gusts  through  the  thick  sky ;  im 
possible  to  see  before  him,  the  light  growing 
less,  not  with  the  gale  alone  now,  but  with 
the  declining  day.  Night  was  coming  on, 
and  he  was  lost  in  all  the  tumult  of  the 
tempestuous  elements. 

Still  he  labored  along.  They  were  bitter 
thoughts  now  in  Mr.  Dunmore's  mind.  He 
must  keep  going.  Helena  would  never  know 
— Helena  would  always  think — and  he  so 
young,  so  well,  so  strong,  to  die  like  a  dog 
of  the  cold— like  a  beast  on  the  plains.  If 
he  could  only  find  himself  on  level  ground 
once  more  ;  if  only  the  storm  would  cease 
roaring;  if  a  friendly  light  would  shine  out 
anywhere  !  How  trivial  here  seemed  all  the 
concerns  about  which  he  had  vexed  himself  ! 
What  mere  dust  and  ashes  !  It  wasn't  possi 
ble  he  was  the  man  that  had  those  undigni 
fied,  those  cruel,  words  with  his  wife  this 
morning  !  This  morning  ?  Oh,  it  seemed  a 
year  ago !  If  he  ever  reached  home  again, 
it  would  be  another  man  ;  he  would  not 


A    SCARLET    POPPY  21 

suffer  the  winds  of  heaven  to  visit  her  too 
roughly.  Then  the  beads  of  cold  sweat 
broke  out  on  him  an  instant  to  think  that 
possibly  now  he  should  never  reach  it.  His 
knees  trembled ;  his  feet  were  like  balls  of 
ice ;  he  moved  them  as  if  they  belonged  to 
somebody  else.  Every  few  steps  he  stumbled 
— he  fell — and  every  time  it  was  harder  to 
rise.  At  last,  utterly  helpless,  he  lay  there, 
numb,  freezing,  breathless,  hardly  con 
scious,  the  storm  whistling  and  screaming 
over  him,  the  drift  covering  him.  A  dull  red 
light  swam  across  his  sight ;  yes,  he  thought 
vaguely,  the  glow  before  his  eyes  of  the 
blood  bursting  upon  his  brain.  And  yet,  he 
thought  again  presently,  life  reviving  with 
in  him,  was  that  the  way  death  by  freezing 
came  ?  This  red  glow,  was  it  not  possibly 
some  lantern,  some  lamp,  with  its  little  blaze 
magnified  by  the  driving  of  the  snow  ?  If  he 
could  halloo  and  make  any  one  hear  him — 
He  tried  again  and  again,  and  yet  again; 
but  his  voice  fainted,  and  he  fell  back, 
slowly  losing  consciousness  of  all  things  but 
that  red  glow,  as  it  shone  and  broke  and 
formed  again  under  the  shifting  clouds  of  fly- 


22  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

ing  flakes.  How  soft  and  rich  its  ruby 
warmth,  like  the  heart  of  some  great  flower 
— of  some  great  poppy  !  And  then  the  truth 
smote  the  wretched  man,  smote  him  with  a 
crueler  blow  than  any  smiting  of  the  storm. 
He  was  doomed,  he  was  dying,  he  was  freez 
ing  to  death,  two  rods  from  his  own  door ! 

Tired  out  with  her  temper  and  her  tears, 
Mrs.  Helena  slept  for  several  hours  the 
sleep  of  those  whose  cause  is  just,  her  head 
buried  in  the  down,  deaf  to  all  the  noises  of 
the  outside  world.  When  she  woke  at  last 
it  was  some  stronger  thrust  of  the  turmoil 
of  the  tempest  that  made  her  suddenly  sit 
up  on  the  bed  and  shiver  with  an  indefin 
able  terror.  She  hurriedly  bathed  her  face 
and  smoothed  her  hair,  and  ran  down-stairs 
where  the  maids  were,  and  the  cats,  and  the 
great  St.  Bernard  dog,  a  need  of  some  sort 
of  companionship  overpowering  her  in  this 
war  of  the  elements. 

But  the  maids  were  busy,  and  Sauveur  was 
asleep,  and  the  cat  sat  on  the  window-sill 
watching  the  eddying  snow  in  an  uncanny 
way,  and  the  only  thing  to  reassure  her  was 


A   SCARLET   POPPY  23 

the  portrait  of  her  husband  over  the  fire 
place,  the  handsome,  smiling,  loving  face, 
the  eager,  tender  eyes  that  seemed  to  follow 
her.  She  looked  away  angrily,  and  then  she 
looked  back  in  spite  of  herself,  and  then  she 
fell  into  her  own  low  chair,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and  tears  began  to 
trickle  through  her  fingers — tears  of  lone- 
someness,  of  down-heartedness,  of — yes,  of 
repentance,  repentance  that  she  could  ever 
have  said  what  she  had  said  that  morning 
to  her  husband.  How  kind  he  had  always 
been  to  her !  how  indulgent !  how  fond  ! 
And  just  because  he  had  felt  a  little  cap 
tious  and  irritated  she  had  insulted  and  out 
raged  him,  and  abused  him  in  her  thoughts 
afterwards,  and  had  let  him  go  off  in  the 
storm,  thinking  she  never  wanted  to  see  his 
face  again.  She  had  said — yes,  she  had  said 
— she  never  wanted  to  see  his  face  again. 
Oh,  what  if  Fate  took  her  at  her  word,  and 
she  never  did  ?  What  sort  of  a  thing  would 
life  be  to  her  without  him  ?  What —  But  she 
could  not  let  herself  think  such  a  thought. 
She  ran  up-stairs  and  put  on  her  pretty  green 
gown,  and  brushed  a  fresh  curl  into  her  yel- 


24  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

low  locks,  and  picked  some  of  her  geraniums 
to  lay  on  the  luncheon  -  table,  and  had  the 
fire  brightened,  and  went  to  the  piano  and 
began  to  play  his  favorite  love -songs,  and 
when  she  ceased  the  luncheon-time  had  long 
passed,  and  yet  her  husband  had  not  come. 
It  was  later  than  she  had  thought ;  it  was 
wearing  into  the  afternoon  ;  the  gale  was  in 
creasing.  If  it  was  like  this  up  here  among 
the  hills,  what  must  it  be  down  on  the  sea- 
coast,  with  the  sailors  clinging  to  the  icy 
shrouds  ?  Ah,  what  must  it  be  here  to  any 
one  out  on  the  hills  alone  in  these  blowing 
clouds  of  sleet  and  snow  ?  Her  heart  stood 
still  with  the  thought.  Was  Mark  out  yet  ? 
No ;  he  had  only  gone  off  in  a  pet ;  he  had 
stayed  out  just  to  frighten  her.  Was  it  pos 
sible  that  he  could  do  so  ?  For  a  pause  her 
anger  flashed  up  again  ;  and  then  with  a 
wild,  stifled  cry  she  began  to  walk  the  floor 
like  a  wild  woman.  No;  it  was  not  possible. 
Mark  had  always  tried  to  save  her  from  all 
worriment  and  vexation.  He  would  have 
come  back  if  he  had  not  been  hindered.  He 
never  stayed  angry  an  hour.  He  had  gone 
up  the  mountain  to  the  shepherds,  and  he 


A   SCARLET    POPPY  25 

had  become  bewildered  and  had  lost  his 
way. 

In  a  heart-beat  now,  Mrs.  Dunmore  had 
the  house  alarmed,  and  the  servants  sent 
out  in  all  directions,  only  to  return  report 
ing  that  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  catch 
the  breath  in  the  wind  and  snow,  and  that 
Mr.  Dunmore  must  long  since  have  taken 
shelter  somewhere,  for  no  man  alive  could 
undertake  to  weather  such  a  gale  as  this. 
No  man  alive,  Mrs.  Dunmore  kept  repeating 
then.  Perhaps  he  was  not  alive ;  perhaps 
he  had  gone  down  under  the  stress  of  the 
mighty  blast,  and  the  drifts  had  deepened 
over  him  —  her  husband,  her  darling,  her 
Mark  !  She  sat  a  little  while  looking  into 
the  fire  stupidly,  while  a  thousand  scenes  of 
their  younger  days  started  up  before  her 
eyes — summer  mornings  in  the  boat  upon 
the  narrow,  shadowy  river ;  winter  evenings 
in  each  other's  arms ;  long,  slow  drives 
about  the  flowery  country  lanes ;  strolls  on 
starry  nights ;  the  love,  the  hope,  the  joy, 
in  those  days  when  they  were  all  in  all 
to  one  another,  and  wanted  nothing  more ; 
and  then  she  started  and  ran  to  the  window 


26  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

and  searched  the  storm,  so  thick  and  white 
as  to  be  impenetrable ;  and  suddenly  now 
so  gray,  so  dark,  in  the  quick  falling  of  the 
night,  as  to  be  full  of  horror. 

Oh,  to  think  that  she,  with  her  sharp 
tongue,  her  evil  temper,  had  shut  her  hus 
band  out  into  such  a  wild  night  as  this ! 
How  wicked  !  how  infamous  !  If  he  did  not 
come  soon  her  heart  would  break.  If  she 
could  only  put  her  arms  round  him  once 
again  and  beg  him  to  forgive  her ! 

Sauveur  came  and  stood  with  her,  gazing 
as  wistfully  into  the  storm,  and  whining  soft 
ly.  And  the  maid  lighted  the  lamp  with  the 
red  poppy  shade  upon  it ;  and  then  she  could 
see  nothing  but  the  flakes  sweeping  by  the 
pane,  like  sparks  of  fire ;  and  she  sank  on 
her  knees  by  the  window,  the  dog  beside  her, 
and  knew  and  felt  nothing  but  blackness. 

Suddenly  she  felt  the  dog  trembling 
through  all  his  great  shaggy  frame  ;  he  sat 
up,  his  ears  pricked  and  alert,  and  then  all 
at  once  he  sprang  to  the  door  with  a  single 
bound  and  a  sharp  cry  ;  and  she  sprang  after 
him,  calling  the  maids  and  the  man,  and 
threw  wide  the  door  and  rushed  out,  regard- 


A   SCARLET   POPPY  27 

less  of  all  things  but  the  one,  the  others  be 
hind  her,  floundering,  falling,  without  breath, 
up  again,  on,  till  the  dog's  glad  cry  told  the 
story,  and  among  them  they  had  Mr.  Dun- 
more's  shoulders  up,  and  they  dragged  him 
inside  the  gate  and  the  porch,  and  shut  hard 
the  door  against  the  storm,  and  felt  ready 
and  willing  to  faint,  but  knew  there  was  no 
time  to  do  it  in. 

Mr.  Dunmore  had  his  breakfast  in  bed  the 
next  morning,  languid,  but  uninjured  by  so 
much  as  a  serious  frost-bite,  and  feeling  su 
premely  blest  among  his  pillows,  with  the 
fire  crackling  on  the  hearth,  the  flowers 
blooming  in  the  window,  and  the  storm 
still  roaring  on  outside,  while  his  wife  fed 
him  with  daintiest  morsels,  and  Sauveur 
now  and  then  laid  a  caressing  nose  on  the 
coverlid. 

uTo  think,"  she  said,  "that  I  ever  could 
have  spoken  so  to  you,  my  darling !  I  must 
have  been  out  of  my  head.  Oh,  I  will  never 
spend  a  cent  again  without  consulting  you 
first,  Mark  dear !" 

"  You  never  spent  a  cent  too  much  in  all 
your  life,  my  precious  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Did 


28  A    SCARLET    POPPY 

I  say  you  did  ?  Some  evil  spirit  took  pos 
session  of  me.  It  was  never  I — 

"Just  think  what  you  have  suffered — oh, 
just  think  of  it,  dearest !  And  all  for  the 
sake  of  a  red  paper  poppy !  I  will  go  and 
throw  it  into  the  fire  this  moment" 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he 
cried.  "  I  never  in  all  the  world  saw  any 
thing  so  beautiful  as  that  red  paper  poppy. 
It  was  a  lucky  day  you  bought  it ;  it  was 
my  preserver  and  benefactor ;  it  gave  me 
strength  to  halloo  and  be  heard.  I  mean  to 
treasure  it  all  my  life,  and  have  it  buried 
with  me  at  last." 

"  And  with  me  too,"  she  cried,  falling  on 
his  neck,  to  the  danger  of  the  breakfast 
things  ;  "  for  we  will  be  buried  in  one  grave." 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

CERTAINLY  it  was  a  charming  home,  that 
in  which  Mr.  Pearmain  had  installed  his 
young  wife  :  a  stone  cottage  with  mullioned 
windows  from  floor  to  ceiling,  with  pointed 
gables  and  divers  roofs  and  vanes,  and  with 
an  infinitude  of  prairie-roses  and  Virginia- 
creepers  planted  beside  the  walls,  to  grow 
in  the  future  till  the  house  should  be  a  bow 
er.  And  inside  it  was  what  all  good  house 
keepers  called  fairy- land.  Here  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Pearmain  had  given  full  scope  to  their 
notions,  whose  name  was  legion  ;  not  a  bit 
of  paint  in  the  house  to  be  cleaned,  no  car 
pets  to  secrete  poison,  but  hard-wood,  inlaid 
floors  and  rugs,  and  then  a  conservatory 
and  grapery  on  a  tiny  scale,  and  closets  with 
out  counting;  while  as  for  the  kitchen,  the 
conveniences  there  were  simply  miraculous. 
And  when  all  this  was  done  and  inspected 


32  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

and  occupied  and  enjoyed,  it  was  no  won 
der  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pearmain  looked 
about  for  something  else  on  which  to  ex 
pend  their  whims  and  vagaries.  Their  way 
of  life  was  so  good  that  it  would  have  been 
selfishness  not  to  wish  others  to  share  it. 
Little  Harry  Pearmain  was  exactly  three 
years  old  when  they  had  fully  decided  to 
convert  to  that  way  their  next  neighbor,  but 
lately  arrived,  a  school-mate  of  Mrs.  Pear- 
main's  who  had  married  a  dear  old  friend  of 
Mr.  Pearmain's — little  Mrs.  Morley,  whose 
black  eyes  had  a  strange  sharp  snap  in 
them  when  things  displeased  her.  And  it 
was  one  morning  when  Mrs.  Morley  had 
come  over  to  profit  by  her  friend's  expe 
rience  in  the  matter  of  dainty  needle-work 
that  the  campaign  began. 

"  I  always  meant,  when  I  could  have 
things  as  I  chose,"  said  Mrs.  Pearmain,  as 
they  sat  and  sewed,  "  to  order  my  table  so 
that  not  one  ounce  of  flesh  should  ever  sul 
ly  it.  I  don't  proselyte  my  neighbors;  be 
cause  I  believe  in  individual  liberty ;  but 
since  you  inquire,  I  will  say  that  I've  tried 
it  long  enough  to  feel  sure,  and  as  there 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  33 

never  has  been  a  piece  of  meat  cooked  in 
my  house,  so  there  never  shall  be !"  and 
she  nodded  her  pretty  head  like  a  piece  of 
mechanism. 

"  But  what  does  Mr.  Pearmain  say  ?" 
asked  the  other. 

"Oh,  he  agrees  about  it,  fortunately,  so 
there  is  no  difficulty  there.  In  fact,  it  was 
Mr.  Pearmain's  remarks,  before  we  mar 
ried,  that  first  led  me  to  think  seriously  of 
the  subject.  He  always  used  to  call  it  can 
nibalism  whenever  the  beef  was  cut  and  the 
blood  followed  the  knife.  And  I  thought  so 
much  of  his  opinion  I  began  to  turn  the 
matter  over." 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  I  don't  believe  I  shall 
ever  think  so  much  of  any  man's  opinion," 
said  Mrs.  Morley.  "  And  did  Mr.  Pear- 
main's  conviction  really  affect  your  appe 
tite  ?  What  an  idea !  And  you  ceased  eat 
ing  meat  in  consequence  of  Mr.  Pearmain's 
conviction  ?" 

"  Well,  in  consequence  of  my  own  con 
viction,"  said  the  priestess.  "  It  grew  dis 
gusting  to  me.  We  boarded  together,  you 
know,  and  when  my  plate  came,  and  I  be- 


34  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

gan  to  help  myself  to  salt,  Mr.  Pearmain 
would  glance  at  it,  and  say,  '  Dead  flesh.' " 

"  I  should  think  that  would  have  been 
disgusting." 

"I  did  feel  vexed  a  little  at  first,  but 
presently  I  was  saying  the  words  to  myself. 
And  presently  I  couldn't  taste  it  at  all." 

"  The  idea  !"  said  Mrs.  Morley,  hunting 
for  her  lost  needle. 

"Oh,  if  you  just  run  the  matter  over 
yourself,  you  won't  be  so  scornful,  Teresa. 
If  you  remember  every  time  you  take  a  bit 
of  mutton  that  you  are  eating  death  and  cor 
ruption — " 

"  Well,  I  never  !"  said  Mrs.  Morley,  catch 
ing  her  breath. 

"  Why,  only  think  of  it !"  said  Mrs.  Pear- 
main,  warming  at  her  work.  "  How  can  you 
expect  anybody  to  be  good  that  is  constant 
ly  fed  and  nourished  and  kept  alive  on  a 
lower  form  of  life  ?" 

"  But,  bless  my  heart,"  cried  Mrs.  Mor 
ley,  struggling  up  from  under  the  avalanche 
of  words,  "  vegetables  are  a  lower  form  of 
life,  and  one  must  live  on  something." 

"Vegetables    are   innocent   life,   at    any 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  35 

rate,  with  no  vile  propensities  or  impure 
parts.  And,  moreover,  we  are  half  vege 
tables  ourselves." 

"  We  ?  Oh,  what  in  the  world  do  you 
mean,  Emily  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Morley,  in 
a  terrified  manner,  as  if  she  had  just  re 
ceived  a  revelation  as  to  how  fearfully  she 
was  made. 

"Certainly.  Didn't  you  know  that?" 
said  Mrs.  Pearmain,  with  a  superior  air. 
"The  movements  of  our  bodies  that  are 
voluntary  are  animal ;  those  that  are  invol 
untary  are  vegetable,  such  as  the  circula 
tion,  and  all  the  processes  that  go  on  while 
we  sleep." 

"  Isn't  it  dreadful  ?"  gasped  Mrs.  Morley. 

"  Dreadful  ?  I  think  it's  beautiful.  It's 
a  sort  of  union  in  ourselves  of  the  three 
kingdoms — vegetable,  animal,  and  spiritual ; 
for  when  the  nerves  come  in  and  control 
the  great  brute  muscles — " 

"  But,  really,  Emily — " 

"  Now  don't  be  silly,  Teresa.  A  woman 
of  your  power  of  mind  has  only  to  look  at 
the  thing  rationally  to  feel  just  as  I  do. 
For,  as  I  was  saying,  how  can  those  people 


36  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

be  good  who  receive  all  their  increase  from 
a  lower  animal  form,  from  brutal  instincts 
and  actions  —  how  can  they  help  receiving 
those  instincts  and  being  tempted  to  those 
actions,  and  becoming,  under  the  guise  of 
men  and  women,  a  baser  sort  of  animals 
themselves?" 

"I  don't  know  —  perhaps  so,"  said  Mrs. 
Morley,  a  little  moved,  it  may  be,  by  the 
reference  to  her  power  of  mind. 

"  There  must  be  an  inherent  principle  in 
man  that  will  rise  whether  or  no,  or  else  we 
never  should  have  gotten  along  as  far  as 
we  have.  But  it  would  be  so  much  faster, 
so  much  further,  if  it  wasn't  for  this  food 
on  which  we  sustain  our  growth.  And 
while  we  eat  it,  I  don't  see  how  the  great 
perfect  race  can  ever  come  at  all.  It 
never  will  come,  Teresa,"  said  Mrs.  Pear- 
main,  resting  on  her  elbow  and  looking 
through  her  friend  as  if  to  the  far- 
distant  future  —  "  it  never  will  come  till 
people  cease  to  eat  flesh,  and  live  on  the 
things  that  nature  provides  without  pain 
or  slaughter.  To  think,  every  time  you  sit 
down  to  table,  that  some  creature  which 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  37 

enjoyed  life  has  had  to  give  it  up  for  your 
appetite  !  That  makes  me  sick  !"  said  Mrs. 
Pearmain. 

"  Well,  it's  very  wonderful.  I  never 
thought  of  it  before.  I  really  will  look  it 
all  over.  But  I  don't  see  what  there  is 
to  live  on  —  I  should  starve  on  bread  and 
butter." 

"  Butter !  We  only  allow  butter  as  a 
rarity." 

"  Well,  milk,  then." 

"  Milk,  indeed  !  Do  you  suppose  that, 
while  cows  are  kept  in  the  unnatural  condi 
tion  in  which  the  milker  keeps  them,  we 
should  drink  their  milk  ?  Oh  no,  indeed, 
seldom  milk,  seldom  cream,  do  we  touch." 

"  My  goodness  !  Then  you've  nothing 
left  but  eggs." 

"  Well,  once  in  a  while  an  egg ;  but 
rarely.  I  never  can  get  over  feeling  that 
to  break  an  egg  is  the  murder  of  an  inno 
cent." 

"  Why,  then,  you  can't  have  cake,  or — " 

"  What  do  you  want  that  for  ? — unhealthy, 
indigestible,  poisonous  —  no,  we  never 
have  it." 


38  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

"  Nor  doughnuts  ?" 

"  Doughnuts  !"  with  ineffable  scorn. 

"  And  you  can't  have  pies  ?" 

"  Never.  But  we  have  delicious  sauces — 
apple,  cranberry,  grape,  and  all  those." 

"  But  what  in  wonder  do  you  do  when 
you  have  company  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  have  no  idea  of  how  many  de 
licious  ways  there  are  in  which  the  grains 
can  be  cooked,  or  of  how  many  delicious 
forms  of  bread  there  are.  You  can  get  up 
a  perfectly  harmonious  dinner  of  the  vari 
ous  vegetables  that  really  leaves  you  noth 
ing  to  desire  ;  mushrooms  are  as  good  as 
steaks ;  beans  can  be  made  to  imitate  roast 
beef ;  and  with  fruits  and  sauces,  as  I  said, 
there  is  enough  of  everything,  and  those 
who  want  meat  needn't  come  to  us." 

"  I  should  die  !" 

"  Not  after  you  were  used  to  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Pearmain,  seriously.  "  You  would 
learn  to  like  the  new  way  and  detest  the 
old." 

"  It  would  set  free  a  great  deal  of  money, 
to  be  sure,  to  be  used  on  other  things," 
mused  Mrs.  Morley. 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  39 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal !  And  then  you  would 
be  twice  as  healthy  and  strong,  and  your 
children  would  be  an  improvement  on  you. 
In  fact,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  Harry  chiefly 
that  we  are  so  strenuous  about  following 
up  the  matter.  It  may  not  make  a  mighty 
difference  with  me,  beginning  after  twenty, 
but  I  expect  to  see  Harry  —  I  can't  help 
seeing  Harry — a  very  different  person  from 
other  people's  boys.  And  if  he  could  only 
find  and  marry,  when  he  grows  up,  a  woman 
who  had  been  nourished  on  the  same  sort 
of  food — just  think,  Teresa,  what  we  might 
expect  of  their  children  !  It  would  be  the 
beginning  of  a  race  that  would  conquer  the 
world,  the  beginning  of  that  great  perfect 
race  which  will  do  such  wonderful  things  as 
pass  our  comprehension." 

"  What  makes  you  talk  so  ecstatically  of 
that  great  perfect  race,  Emily  ?  How  do 
you  know  anything  about  it?" 

"Why,  don't  geology  and  those  things 
show  us  that  race  after  race  of  animals  has 
passed  away,  and  only  left  its  bones  be 
hind  it  ?  And  should  we  suppose  that 
man  would  be  an  exception  to  the  general 


40  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

fate  ?  But  as  each  race  passes,  something 
takes  its  place  a  little  superior  to  it,  sprung 
from  it,  perhaps  ;  and  this  great  perfect  race 
is  to  take  the  place  of  man,  sprung  from 
man  and  woman,  but  from  the  first  man  and 
woman  that  ceased  to  eat  death  and  cor 
ruption.  Oh,  Teresa,"  said  Mrs.  Pearmain, 
her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  glowing,  "if  it 
should  be  your  child  and  mine !" 

The  last  stroke  did  the  work.  Mrs.  Mor- 
ley,  it  might  be  said,  threw  up  the  sponge ; 
she  was  a  convert  from  that  moment  to 
Mrs.  Pearmain's  theories.  She  went  through 
the  house  that  very  day ;  she  inquired  into 
everything ;  she  took  notes  of  everything ; 
she  learned  how  to  do  everything ;  and  she 
rwent  home  at  night  all  prepared  to  convert 
Mr.  Morley,  and  to  give  her  Louise  to  be 
married  to  Harry  —  if  it  happened  to  be 
Louise. 

Poor  Mr.  Morley  !  He  loved  his  juicy 
steak  ;  he  rolled  under  his  tongue  the  sweet 
morsel  of  the  oyster  out  of  a  side  bone ;  he 
considered  pepper-pot  a  dish  fit  for  the  gods ; 
he  was  fond  of  broiled  liver  and  a  rasher  of 
bacon ;  a  cold  pickled  shoulder  of  pork  he 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES  41 

thought  good  enough  to  invite  the  king  to 
partake.  In  fact,  he  was  a  murderous  can 
nibal,  pure  and  simple,  according  to  Mrs. 
Pearmain's  lights,  who  enjoyed  his  dinner 
without  being,  as  he  thought  himself — and 
as  we  think,  so  we  are — either  exactly  an 
epicure  or  a  glutton. 

But  it  was  of  no  use.  When  Mrs.  Morley 
unmasked  her  batteries  that  night,  and  went 
over  Mrs.  Pearmain's  plan  of  campaign,  with 
a  whole  added  troop  of  exclamation  and 
emphasis  and  entreaty  and  embracing,  he 
knew  he  must  surrender.  He  made  a  faint 
resistance,  but  on  the  whole  he  didn't  be 
lieve  it  was  to  be  a  permanent  affair  with 
his  little  Teresa ;  he  didn't  like  to  deny  her 
anything  just  now  either ;  it  was  probably 
only  an  incidental  whim  that  would  pass, 
and  so  he  yielded  handsomely,  and  prom 
ised  that  she  should  have  her  own  way. 
And  then  the  idea  of  marrying  his  girl 
to  Pearmain's  boy  was  a  pleasant  one : 
Pearmain  was  rich  and  generous  and 
good,  the  friend  of  years.  Yes,  he  would 
promise. 

"  Kiss  the  book  !"  cried  Mrs.  Morley. 


42  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

"No,  I  won't  do  that,"  said  he.  "I'll 
promise,  and  my  word's  as  good  as  my 
bond." 

"  Well,  then,  George,  you've  as  good  as 
taken  an  oath,  and  I  expect  you  to  keep  it." 

"I  mean  to  keep  it,"  he  replied  —  "at 
least,  till  you  release  me." 

"  That  will  be  forever,  then."  And  she 
plumed  herself  like  Victory  just  lit  upon  a 
banner. 

But  it  was  a  dismal  breakfast  to  Mr.  Mor- 
ley  next  day,  when  dry  toast  preceded  oat 
meal,  and  butterless  baked  potato  without 
salt  brought  up  the  rear  ;  a  dismal  dinner, 
when  watery  squash  and  lumpy  turnip  were 
the  only  variation  of  a  table  gorgeous  with 
carrots  and  beets  and  silver.  "  I'll  give  my 
whole  mind  to  it,"  said  Mrs.  Morley,  cheer 
fully.  "  Mrs.  Pearmain  will  lend  me  all  her 
experience,  and  we  shall  have  it  very  pala 
table  yet."  But  he  hankered  after  the  flesh- 
pots. 

It  was  shortly  after  the  beginning  of  the 
new  regime  that  Miss  Louise  Morley  came 
into  the  world,  and  there  was  much  rejoic 
ing  at  the  christening,  although  the  christen- 


BEST-LAID  SCHEMES  43 

ing-cake  consisted  of  a  sort  of  sweet  bread 
with  raisins  in  it,  of  which  Mr.  Morley  par 
took  so  eagerly  that  he  made  himself  ill, 
and  became  presently  so  prostrate  that  the 
doctor,  being  summoned,  ordered  —  per 
haps  at  his  whispered  suggestion — a  course 
of  beef-tea. 

Mr.  Morley  attended  to  that  beef-tea  him 
self.  He  was  not  going  to  be  put  off  with 
slops  and  dissolved  Liebig ;  he  had  pounds 
of  the  thick  red  steaks  laid  before  him  on 
the  slab  in  the  kitchen,  where  he  went,  and 
fairly  gloated  over  its  preparation.  But  his 
rapture  was  of  short  duration.  Mrs.  Pear- 
main,  running  over  one  day  on  an  errand, 
saw  him  whetting  his  knife,  and  flourishing 
it  like  a  savage,  and  tiptoed  away  to  find 
Mrs.  Morley.  "  Oh,  my  dear,"  she  said, 
"  you  never  can  see  the  evil  effects  to  bet 
ter  advantage.  Look  at  him  !  That  is  the 
very  way  the  primitive  butchering  people 
whetted  their  knives  over  a  victim's  throat. 
Oh,  it  is  dreadful !  it  makes  me  shudder. 
It  is  like  a  mania  for  blood ;  it  is  certainly 
near  insanity ;  he  will  be  murdering  you  in 
your  bed." 


44  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Emily  !"  said  Mrs. 
Morley,  tartly.  "  My  George,  indeed  !  Why, 
the  doctor  ordered  it." 

"  But  the  doctor  didn't  order  it  forever. 
The  very  ferocity  shows  he  has  had  enough 
of  it.  I  should  take  it  away  and  put  him 
on  cream-of-tartar  water  directly.  Don't  be 
offended,  Teresa ;  I  am  speaking  for  his 
good  —  and  the  children's.  These  men  — 
they  have  to  be  managed  ;  Mr.  Pearmain 
is  a  singular  exception." 

Mrs.  Morley  did  not  allow  her  displeasure 
to  overcome  her  principles  ;  and  when  Mrs. 
Pearmain  brought  her  visit  to  a  close,  Mrs. 
Morley  brought  the  administration  of  beef- 
tea  to  a  close  too.  For  Mr.  Morley's  inten 
tion  being  to  be  as  good  as  his  word,  it 
needed  only  a  little  argument  and  some 
tears  to  convince  him  that  the  beef-tea  was 
a  breach  of  contract. 

It  would  be  hard  to  tell  what  Mr.  Morley 
suffered  in  going  about  his  business  in  town 
from  day  to  day  for  many  a  month  there 
after.  The  sight  of  the  wild-duck,  hanging, 
with  his  wide  wings  and  brilliant  breast,  at 
a  poulterer's  door,  almost  broke  his  heart ; 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES  45 

the  men  who  came  up  out  of  the  victuallers' 
cellars,  wiping  their  mouths,  excited  in  him 
a  feeling  akin  to  hate ;  and  he  had  to  skip 
by  the  kitchens  of  the  Revere  House  and 
the  Tremont  so  rapidly,  in  order  to  escape 
the  tempting  smells  which  they  cast  forth, 
that  finally  he  altogether  eschewed  Bull 
finch  Street,  and  every  other  that  command 
ed  a  restaurant  kitchen.  For  Mr.  Morley's 
particular  vanity,  as  you  know,  was  that  he 
was  a  man  of  his  word. 

Every  once  in  a  while  Mr.  Morley  made 
a  feeble  remonstrance,  futile  as  feeble  ;  for 
Mrs.  Morley  had  the  whole  thing  pat  now, 
and  was,  moreover,  a  woman  with  whom  it 
was  idle  to  argue,  for  when  obliged  to 
abandon  her  position  logically,  she  always 
did  physically  also,  and  either  banged  out 
of  the  room,  or  else  came  round  where  he 
sat,  put  an  arm  about  his  neck,  and  if  kiss 
es  wouldn't  stop  his  mouth,  stopped  it,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  much  laughing  and 
teasing  meanwhile,  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  A  devilish  pretty  breakfast  !"  said  Mr. 
Morley  once,  pushing  back  his  plate  in  a 
pet.  "  Pea-nuts  !" 


46  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

"  I  don't  complain  of  pea-nuts,  George," 
said  Mrs.  Morley.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  am 
thankful  for  them.  They're  sweet  and  sound 
and  well-baked  ;  there  are  plenty  of  them. 
I  am  sure  they  are  a  very  poetical  food  ; 
and  then  they're  a  national  one ;  we  can 
always  think,  you  know,  when  we  eat  pea 
nuts,  that  we  are  encouraging  the  poor  freed- 
men  down  in  North  Carolina." 

"  Oh,  hang  the  freedmen  !"  groaned  Mr. 
Morley.  "  How  do  you  expect  me  to  go  in 
and  out  of  the  city  every  day  on  such  food 
as  this  ?  I'll  have  no  strength  left  in  a  year 
— living  on  husks." 

"Look  at  those  oxen,  George,  dragging 
that  immense  load  after  them.  There's 
strength — and  it  all  comes  from  husks." 

"  I'm  not  an  ox  !"  roared  Mr.  Morley. 

"  No?  Anybody  'd  say  you  were  a  Bull 
of  Bashan." 

"  Mrs.  Morley,  can't  you  apply  a  little 
reason — 

"  Not  a  scrap.  Not  now.  You  know  this 
is  a  subject  on  which  I  don't  want  conver 
sation  before  Louise,"  as  that  little  dam 
sel  demanded  her  groats,  and  looked  with 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  47 

wondering  eyes  from  one  to  the  other.  "  I 
don't  want  her  ever  to  hear  her  diet  called 
in  question." 

"Me  likes  me's  bwekus,"  said  Miss 
Louie,  with  some  comprehension  of  the 
coil. 

"  It's  more  than  I  do,"  muttered  her 
father. 

"  Take  some  of  Louie's  groats,  then.  Like 
them,  precious?" 

"  Berry  mush,"  said  Louie,  with  some 
point,  and  pushing  the  dish  towards  her 
father,  with  a  dim  idea  that  her  mother  was 
abusing  him. 

"  I  really  can't  understand  what  the  dif 
ference  is  between  eating  these  oats  and 
eating  the  flesh  of  the  animal  that  is  made 
out  of  these  oats." 

"  A  horse's  flesh,  for  instance.  But  you 
wouldn't  eat  that  if  it  was  set  before 
you." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  shouldn't,"  said 
Mr.  Morley,  grimly.  "  People  who  are 
starving  eat  anything.  People  wrecked  and 
on  a  raft  eat  each  other,"  said  he,  looking 
at  his  wife  as  if  it  were  not  impossible  he 


48  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

should  eat  her.  "  Sometimes,"  said  Mr. 
Morley,  "  I  feel  dangerous." 

"  A  depraved  nature,"  said  Mrs.  Morley. 
"  See  what  flesh  has  done  for  you,"  while 
he  gave  a  glance  at  Louie  that  might  have 
made  a  weaker  woman  shudder. 

"  She's  fat,  isn't  she  ?"  said  Mr.  Morley, 
whose  mind  really  seemed  now  to  run  on 
morbid  things,  and  with  the  air  of  one  who 
smacks  his  lips.  And  then,  as  he  caught 
the  chubby  hand  and  carried  it  to  his 
lips,  Mrs.  Morley  found  herself  watching 
him  with  a  breathless  scrutiny  —  for  it 
really  crossed  her  mind  that  Mrs.  Pear- 
main  might  be  right,  and  Mr.  Morley's 
•wits  might  be  a  little  wandering  —  until 
he  had  kissed  the  little  dimpled  fist  and 
laid  it  down  again.  "For  my  part,"  said 
he,  "  if  I  were  to  have  a  plate  of  roast  veal 
set  before  me  (and  I  used  to  despise  it)  — 
roast  veal,  brown,  and  swimming  in  gravy 
— swimming  in  gravy,"  he  repeated,  unctu 
ously — « I  don't  think  I  should  eat  it  like  a 
civilized  being — I've  left  off  being  a  civil 
ized  being,  eating  nuts  and  prunes  and 
things  that  don't  require  any  civilization  : 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 


49 


a  savage  never  needed  to  reach  the  boiling- 
point  to  eat  them  —  I  should  put  my  face 
down  and  wallow  in  it,  and  eat  it  like  a 
dog." 

And  then  Mrs.  Morley  snatched  Louie, 
and  ran  out  of  the  room  in  virtuous  wrath. 

Unhappy  Mrs.  Morley  !  The  path  of  vir 
tue  was  a  thorny  one,  but  she  persevered 
in  it  even  with  bleeding  feet.  And  if  she 
was  not  ready  with  an  answer,  she  always 
had  what  her  husband  called  her  knock 
down  argument  of  leaving  the  room.  And 
she  had  one  last  resort,  better  than  the 
others,  which  she  used  at  such  times  as 
those  when  Mr.  Morley,  recurring  to  the 
charge,  wanted  her  to  see  that  you  might 
scatter  pulverized  marble  over  a  soil  for 
ever  and  do  it  no  good  ;  but  if  you  scattered 
the  pulverized  bones  of  beasts  there  the 
harvest  became  trebled,  plainly  showing 
that  matter  which  had  passed  through  a 
form  of  organized  life  was  superior  to  that 
which  hadn't,  and  that  inasmuch  as  ani 
mals  were  higher  in  the  scale  of  organized 
life  than  vegetables,  the  grain  that  was  con 
verted  into  beef  was  nobler  food  than  the 


50  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

grain  that  had  never  known  that  higher 
form,  and  so —  Then  Mrs.  Morley  had 
ready  the  best  answer  of  all,  and  it  con 
sisted  in  simply  maintaining  silence  so  rig 
orously  that  nothing  short  of  thumbscrews 
could  extract  a  syllable  from  her,  while  she 
looked  the  serene  embodiment  of  pretty 
scorn. 

But  Nature  will  take  her  revenges,  and  in 
her  own  way.  One  night  Mr.  Morley  did 
not  return  from  town.  Mrs.  Morley  sent 
the  carriage  to  every  train  ;  it  came  back 
with  nothing  but  the  Skye  sitting  up  on  the 
seat  erect  as  a  shako.  Mrs.  Morley  sent  one 
servant  up  to  the  Pearmains',  and  another 
over  to  the  Farwells1 — they  knew  nothing 
of  Mr.  Morley.  She  could  learn  nothing 
from  the  train  hands ;  the  gentlemen  going 
up  and  down  every  day  had  not  seen  Mr. 
Morley.  She  telegraphed  to  the  town  sta 
tion  with  no  better  result ;  she  telegraphed 
to  the  counting-room,  and  received  no  reply 
at  all.  It  had  never  happened  before.  She 
was  wild  with  alarm ;  lights  were  dancing 
about  the  house  till  cock-crow ;  she  walked 
the  floors  all  night.  Mr.  Morley  had  fallen 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  51 

unnoticed  in  the  dark  between  the  cars,  she 
was  sure,  and  train  after  train  had  rolled 
over  his  mangled  remains,  and  her  mind 
could  not  fix  him  in  any  single  spot,  so 
great  an  extent  of  surface  was  he  covering. 
Or  else  he  had  been  delayed  in  the  count 
ing-room  till  dusk,  and  had  been  garroted 
on  his  way  to  the  station,  and  robbed 
and  murdered  and  tossed  up  an  alleyway. 
Or  perhaps  he  had  fallen  and  broken  a  leg, 
and,  tortured  with  pain,  lay  in  the  black 
street  at  the  mercy  of  passing  wheels. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  Mr.  Morley  had 
tired  of  her  and  her  whims,  and  had  left  for 
parts  unknown  ?  Had  Mr.  Morley's  fancy 
ever  strayed  from  little  Louie's  mother? 
She  could  not  say ;  for  the  man  that  hank 
ered  after  butcher's  meat  as  he  did  was 
proof  against  no  temptation.  And  yet — 
her  George  —  as  he  did  hanker,  how  s-he 
had  made  him  suffer !  If  she  only  had 
him  there,  she  would  cook  the  reddest  beef 
in  the  servants'  larder  for  him  with  her  own 
hands !  In  a  wild  whirl  her  fears  and  fan 
cies,  her  indignation  and  affection,  chased 
each  other  up  and  down  in  her  mind  till 


52  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

day  broke.  And  then,  by  the  common  ac 
cident  of  ill-luck,  there  was  an  informal 
conclave  of  the  neighbors  at  the  front  gate, 
and  Mr.  Pearmain,  going  in,  volunteered  a 
journey  to  town  in  search  of  Mr.  Morley, 
and  was  welcomed  by  the  wretched  wife 
with  bursting  tears.  "  If  I  only  knew," 
she  sobbed,  "whether  he  is  dead  or  alive, 
I  could  endure  it." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  any  alarm  of  that 
sort,  Teresa,"  said  Mrs.  Pearmain,  who  had 
come  down  early.  "  Anybody  without  much 
moral  force  is  sure  to  be  a  backslider.  Mr. 
Morley  has  merely  been  eating  meat,  and  is 
ashamed  to  face  you." 

It  was  too  true — at  least  the  first  part  of 
the  statement ;  the  second  part  was  a  work 
of  imagination  :  Mr.  Morley  would  have  been 
only  too  glad  to  face  his  wife,  for,  stretched 
on  a  bed  of  sickness,  and  tossing  with  pain 
and  fever,  his  wife's  presence  would  have 
been  like  cold  water  to  his  burning  lips. 
He  had  indeed  fallen  from  grace.  On  his 
way  to  the  station  a  friend — a  long-unseen 
friend,  worse  than  any  garroter — had  begged 
him  to  dine  with  him;  he  had  listened, 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 


53 


longed,  hesitated,  yielded ;  he  could  at  any 
rate  enjoy  his  friend's  society,  if  he  could 
not  dine,  and  could  return  to  Teresa  by  a 
later  train.  Vain  thought !  When  that  mul 
ligatawny  soup  steamed  in  its  tureen,  when 
that  striped  bass  in  its  port-wine  sauce  lift 
ed  its  handsome  side,  when  that  breast  of  a 
mongrel  duck  saluted  his  famished  eyes, 
when  that  single  sip  of  Chateau  Yquem 
made  him  think  the  world  well  lost,  Mr. 
Morley  fell.  Four  hours  of  delicious  ban 
queting;  twenty-four  hours  of  dust  and  ash 
es.  The  stomach  so  long  used  to  husks 
spurned  the  rich  offering  of  blood  and  gra 
vies,  sauces  and  condiments  ;  and  no  drunk 
ard  after  a  debauch  ever  suffered  in  body 
and  in  soul  what  Mr.  Morley  was  suffering 
after  this  not  too  luxurious  good  square  meal. 
Mrs.  Morley  buried  her  head  in  her  hus 
band's  bosom  when  Mr.  Pearmain,  with  the 
kindliness  of  a  man  and  the  severity  of  a 
regicide,  having  carried  her  to  the  place  next 
day,  closed  the  door  upon  the  interview — 
and  surely  we  cannot  do  less  than  Mr.  Pear- 
main  did. 

Poor  Mrs.  Morley !     It  is  to  be  hoped 


54  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

that  her  husband  promised  better  fashions. 
But  on  what  was  she  to  rely  ?  On  his  word? 
A  broken  reed  —  and  he  had  broken  it. 
Poor  Mr.  Morley !  He  was  thoroughly 
wretched.  He  went  about  with  a  craven 
air,  conscious  of  suspicion.  What  is  life 
without  respect?  And  he  knew  that  his 
wife's  respect  was  doubtful,  that  the  Pear- 
mains'  was  not  at  all  doubtful,  and  felt 
that  even  little  Louie  might  learn  to  de 
spise  him.  And,  meantime,  all  the  neigh 
bors,  aware  that  something  very  much  out 
of  the  way  had  taken  place  and  had  been 
hushed  up,  regarded  him  as  the  culprit  of 
a  veritable  escapade,  of  some  vague  and 
awful  departure  from  rectitude,  and  looked 
upon  this  quiet,  sober,  steady  citizen,  who 
paid  his  taxes,  went  to  church  on  Sundays, 
voted  the  right  ticket,  and  never  did  any 
thing  very  wrong  in  his  life— except  when 
he  gave  his  wife  the  trusteeship  of  his 
diet  —  as  little  other  than  a  regular  Don 
Juan. 

Really  one  cannot  help  thinking  that  it 
was  too  bad  of  Mr.  Morley.  He  had  prom 
ised  his  wife,  and  lulled  her  into  false  se- 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES  55 

curity,  declaring  that  his  word  was  as  good 
as  his  bond ;  and  he  was  a  business  man, 
and  knew  what  his  bond  meant.  More 
over,  he  knew  that  his  wife  had  grown  to 
have  the  affair  very  much  at  heart,  being, 
like  all  converts,  wonderfully  bigoted,  and 
convinced  that  it  was  a  matter  of  life  and 
death.  "  Why  do  you  worry  so  over  it, 
Teresa  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Pearmain  once.  "You 
have  established  your  own  and  Louie's  hab 
its.  There  is  no  likelihood  of  your  failing 
for  yourself,  or  of  your  not  securing  her 
great  destiny  for  her — yes,  her  great  destiny. 
And  why  not  let  him  return  to  his  idols  ?" 

"  My  George  !  oh,  Emily,  how  can  I  ?  I 
had  rather  go  with  him.  What  satisfaction 
to  me  is  it  to  be  any  better  than  he  is  ?  I 
want  his  blood  to  be  pure,  his  life  long.  I 
want  him  to  rise  with  me,  and  if  all  this  is 
to  separate  us  and  make  us  a  different  race 
at  last,  I  will  have  fried  pork  on  my  table 
every  day,  and  eat  it  too !  I  wish  I  had 
never  heard  a  word  about  it  all !  I  don't 
see  that  it  makes  us  a  bit  better.  George 
and  I  used  to  agree  about  everything,  and 
now  we  quarrel  about  everything  !" 


56  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

Evidently  indignation  was  not  the  weapon 
with  which  to  meet  this  outbreak,  and  Mrs. 
Pearmain  wearily  went  over  all  her  fantas 
tic  premises  and  logical  sequences  till  she 
had  at  length  triumphantly  welded  the 
chains  afresh  on  Mrs.  Morley's  reason,  and 
Mr.  Morley's  oesophagus. 

Of  course,  while  all  these  agitations  went 
on,  time  went  on  as  well,  and  Harry  Pear- 
main  and  Louie  Morley  were  not  standing 
still :  their  childhood  was  passing  too.  They 
were  really  beautiful  children,  and  whether 
or  not  animal  diet  is  good  for  the  rest  of  us, 
their  bright  eyes,  round  limbs,  and  rosy 
cheeks,  their  boundless  grace  and  happy 
natures,  showed  that  the  opposite  diet  was 
good  for  them.  But  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  nobody  could  dispute  the  fact  that 
little  Fanny  Farwell's  cheeks  were  just  as 
rosy,  her  pretty  flesh  as  sweet,  her  grace  as 
airy ;  and  Fanny  had  been  fed  on  the  rich 
est  of  steaks  and  the  fattest  of  oysters  ever 
since  she  had  cut  her  teeth.  They  were 
the  three  best  friends  in  the  world,  and  the 
only  drawback  to  the  felicity  of  certain  of 
the  parents  was,  that  Harry  always  per- 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  57 

sisted  in  calling  Fanny  his  little  wife,  and 
Louie  his  dear  sister,  although  it  is  uncer 
tain  if  he  were  stimulated  to  that  nomencla 
ture  by  the  gibraltars  and  the  silver  pieces 
that  Mr.  Morley  now  invariably  bestowed 
upon  him  whenever  he  heard  it.  Sister  or 
wife  in  the  future,  they  were  exceedingly 
affectionate  in  the  present ;  they  ran  across 
the  grounds  to  each  other  with  their  games 
and  their  secrets,  and  Louie  was  as  much 
at  home  in  Harry's  house  as  Harry  was  in 
hers ;  and  Mrs.  Pearmain  used  to  look  ex- 
ultingly  at  Louie  as  upon  her  especial  work, 
portray  the  future  to  herself,  and  rejoice 
over  a  daughter-in-law  after  her  own  heart. 
Meantime  Mrs.  Farwell  had  some  thoughts 
of  her  own,  the  character  of  which  may  be 
known  by  the  pitiful  way  hi  which  she  used 
to  smooth  Fanny's  sunshiny  curls  as  she 
remarked  to  her  husband  upon  the  incon 
veniences  attending  the  preparation  of  two 
different  tables,  that  it  was  a  pity  if  what 
was  good  enough  for  our  grandparents 
wasn't  good  enough  for  our  grandchildren, 
that,  after  all,  women  were  nothing  but  the 
slaves  of  men's  caprices,  and  that  the  whole 


58  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

of  these  new-fangled  reformatory  notions 
had  not  succeeded  in  making  Louie  Morley 
half  so  pretty  as  her  Fanny :  though  when 
she  had  had  her  say,  it  is  not  impossible 
that  the  complacent  sparkle  in  her  eye  as 
she  now  and  then  overlooked  the  Pear- 
main  property  was  due  to  the  consideration 
that  it  was  her  Fanny  who  might  one  day 
queen  it  over  that  fair  demesne.  Mrs.  Far- 
well,  however,  if  she  pondered  these  things 
in  her  heart,  kept  them  there  so  well  that 
it  never  entered  the  heads  of  the  other 
two  mothers  that  any  power  could  possibly 
arrange  matters  differently  from  the  way 
in  which  they  had  arranged  them  them 
selves.  So  the  three  happy  things  grew  up 
together,  the  girls  skating  with  the  boy 
in  winter,  and  Bird-nesting  with  him  in 
summer,  the  boy  playing  house  with  them, 
doing  their  examples  and  threading  their 
needles  at  times,  astonishing  them  with  his 
daring  feats  in  riding  and  shooting  and 
wrestling,  while  Louie's  great  black  eyes 
and  brilliant  colors  gave  her  a  certain 
prominence  in  their  counsels,  and  her  dash 
ing  courage  made  her  assimilate  most  to 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 


59 


the  boy's  ways,  and  Fanny's  tenderness 
and  timidity  and  soft  sweetness  moved  his 
heart  in  quite  another  fashion.  They  were 
happy  years  to  the  children ;  they  were 
years  of  apparent  contentment  with  the 
Pearmairxs ;  they  were  years  of  a  perpetual 
and  open  struggle  with  the  Morleys.  If 
Mr.  Morley  missed  a  train,  or  was  delayed 
by  conversation  at  the  station,  if  he  were 
late  in  returning  from  town-meeting  or  from 
the  lodge,  Mrs.  Morley's  nerves  began  to 
twitter  and  her  heart  to  flutter;  now  he 
comes,  and  now  he  doesn't  come  ;  this  foot 
fall  was  his  till  it  went  by,  this  one  surely 
was,  and  her  heart  beat  like  a  forge,  and 
fell  with  a  mighty  blow  at  the  disappoint 
ment.  "  It  is  killing  me,  I  know  it  is,"  she 
would  say  to  herself.  "  All  this  hope  and 
fear  and  doubt  and  worry  keep  my  pulses 
going  so  that  I  shall  have  a  dreadful  heart- 
disease  fastened  upon  me.  It  really  does 
not  seem  as  if  the  good  our  plan  may  do 
outweighs  the  evil  it  does  do."  And  then 
she  would  take  her  work  and  run  up  to 
Mrs.  Pearmain's  for  some  words  to  forti 
fy  her.  Mrs.  Pearmain  always  had  them. 


60  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

More  than  once  she  had  intimated  that 
that  was  her  branch  of  the  business,  and 
had  even  admitted  that  the  person  who 
furnished  all  the  ideas  ought  not  to  be  ex 
pected  to  furnish  practice  too,  like  those 
old-fashioned  temperance  lecturers  who 
aroused  their  energies  with  a  good  nip 
of  brandy  before  converting  their  audience 
to  do  away  with  brandy  altogether. 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,  Emily,"  she 
would  say.  "  It  is  worth  any  amount  of 
heart-ache.  It  isn't  that  it  will  so  much 
benefit  you  and  me— it  would  do  little  hurt 
to  our  plan,  I  suppose,  if  we  took  our 
bone  in  our  cupboard  —  but  our  example 
is  necessary  to  keep  the  children  at  the 
mark." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Morley.  "  Length  of  days  is  as  desirable 
for  us  as  for  the  children  ;  and  when  we  dis 
card  Death  from  our  diet,  he  has  to  stop 
long  enough  to  seek  some  other  approach, 
at  any  rate." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Pearmain,  "  that  is  true. 
I  feel  as  if  these  children  might  acquire 
immortality  —  at  least  return  to  such  age 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  6l 

as  Melchizedek's  and  Methuselah's.  And 
just  think  what  work  might  be  accom 
plished  in  such  lifetimes  as  that  will  bring 
about !  Now  a  person  no  sooner  knows 
how  to  handle  his  talent,  his  inventive  skill, 
or  his  learning,  than  off  he  goes,  snuffed  out 
like  a  candle  ;  but  then  the  man  who  invents 
a  spring  for  a  railroad  car  at  thirty,  at  three 
hundred  will  be  ballasting  a  road  to  the 
moon.  What  a  period  it  will  be  after  a  few 
such  generations !  There  will  be  no  such 
thing  as  typhoids  and  diphtherias  and  all 
that  ilk ;  we  shall  have  killed  off  the  plants 
that  nourish  the  germs  of  parasitical  dis 
ease  ;  the  organs  of  our  bodies,  no  longer 
clogged  with  foul  matter,  will  run  on  undis 
turbed  indefinitely ;  the  reducing  of  the  tem 
perature  of  the  blood  and  abstracting  the 
stimulus  of  strong  flesh  will  abolish  another 
class  of  disease  and  all  the  hereditary  hor 
rors  that  spring  from  it ;  and  I  can't  see 
that  there  will  be  anything  but  sudden  acci 
dent  to  stop  the  machine  any  more  than  to 
stop  a  planet." 

"  Well,  that  is  for  them,  not  for  us.    They 
will  never  give  us  a  thought,  nor  dream  of 


62  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

all  our  trouble  and  struggle  to  achieve  it  for 
them.  They  will  only  despise  us  as  we  do 
the  wretches  who  sawed  human  bones  with 
flint  for  the  sake  of  the  marrow." 

"  I  think  such  a  race  will  have  no  room 
for  contempt.  They  will  pity  us  with  every 
fresh  gain.  Why,  Teresa,  I  can  even  think 
the  time  may  come  when  there  will  be  no 
eating  at  all,  but  science  will  have  learned 
the  required  elements  of  food,  the  nitrates 
and  phosphates  and  all  that,  and  supply 
them  to  us  in  gaseous  shape,  great  reser 
voirs  feeding  our  houses  through  pipes  :  we 
will  open  the  tubes  in  the  dining-room,  and 
sit  a  certain  length  of  time  together  there, 
talking  gayly,  stimulated  by  the  gas  we  are 
all  breathing  together,  of  which  the  system 
will  take  only  what  it  needs,  and  then  go 
our  ways  again  without  soil,  grease,  or  trou 
ble." 

"  But,  goodness,  Emily,  our  teeth,  our 
stomachs !" 

"  Well,  teeth  are  useful  in  various  ways. 
And  as  for  our  stomachs,  they  may  be 
turned  to  the  secretion  of — now  don't  you 
laugh  at  me,  Teresa — I  have  really  read  a 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES  63 

paper  about  it — to  the  secretion  of  wing 
material — " 

"  Wings !" 

"  Yes,  wings — why  not  ?  If  the  first  fish 
that  ever  dreamed  of  being  a  bird  had  seen 
a  penguin  with  his  flippers,  transmigrating 
fins,  he  wouldn't  have  thought  himself  vis 
ionary.  But  being  determined  to  be  a  bird, 
he  became  a  penguin  ;  and  some  penguin 
probably  determined  upon  becoming  an 
eagle.  We  only  have  to  be  determined, 
Teresa,  and  we  can  do  anything — in  time — 
allowing,  you  know,  that  the  '  eternal  years 
of  God '  are  ours  to  work  in." 

"  We  can  determine  upon  being  angels," 
said  Mrs.  Morley,  slyly. 

"  And  become  so  in  time.  How  do  you 
suppose  the  bodily  idea  of  angels  arose,  if 
not  from  the  forefeeling  of  those  wings  ?  It 
isn't  for  you  and  me,  Teresa,  but  it  is  for 
Harry's  and  Louie's  descendants  to  have  as 
fine 

'  Sustaining  wings  of  skyey  grain, 
Orange  and  azure  deepening  into  gold,' 

as  any  angel  of  them  all." 


64  HEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

"  It  will  be  very  awkward  for  dress-mak 
ers,"  said  Mrs.  Morley,  her  needle  on  her 
lip,  and  rather  too  well  accustomed  to  won 
ders  from  her  friend's  lips  for  much  surprise. 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  will  simplify  dress 
making." 

"  But,  Emily,  it  will  take  more  than  our 
Harry  and  Louie  to  bring  all  this  about. 
Their  children  will  have  to  marry  among 
the  flesh-eaters,  and  all  our  work  goes  for 
nothing." 

"  I  know  it.  And  that  perplexes  me  a 
great  deal.  Really  it  doesn't  seem  right  to 
throw  up  the  matter  for  that.  Still  it  was 
an  awful  oversight.  Sometimes  it  almost 
reconciles  me  to  the  bouillon  and  chops  that 
Dr.  Bonnamy  ordered  last  fall." 

"  Last  fall  ?" 

"  When  I  grew  so  poorly  from  eating  the 
lemons,  you  know." 

"  Oh  yes,  to  keep  your  bones — " 

"  From  turning  to  chalk.  I  went  too  far. 
Oh,  if  we  could  only  live  up  to  our  theories!" 
said  Mrs.  Pearmain,  with  a  sigh. 

"I  can,  and  I  will,"  cried  Mrs.  Morley. 
"  And  George  Morley  must." 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES  65 

"  Now  if  we  had  only  found  two  other 
mothers  to  begin  life  as  we  did,  we  should 
have  been  quite  secure,"  said  Mrs.  Pear- 
main,  reflectively.  "  Then  there  would  have 
been  no  need  of  abandoning  our  experi 
ment." 

"  Abandoning  !  Who  talks  of  abandon 
ing?"  cried  Mrs.  Morley,  with  snapping 
eyes.  "  If  it  is  right  to  do,  I  shall  do  it  ir 
respective  of  the  possibilities  of  Harry's  and 
Louie's  descendants." 

"  But  it  is  for  them  we  are  doing  it.  And 
all  that  wars  against  us  is  appetite — no,  not 
even  appetite,  but  the  mere  sense  of  taste. 
Why  in  the  world  cannot  science  take  up 
the  thing,  and  invent  flavors  for  us,  so  that 
with  a  few  drops  of  this  extract  we  can  give 
the  flavor  of  roast  fowl  to  this  vegetable, 
with  a  few  drops  of  that  turn  our  porridge 
into  turtle-soup,  and  with  another  get  all 
the  satisfaction  out  of  a  biscuit  that  we 
should  out  of  a  chop  ?  But  no,"  said  Mrs. 
Pearmain,  wearily,  "  it  never  will,  and  I  for 
one  am  almost  tired  of  going  against  the 
stream,  when  all  our  work  is  to  end  like 
those  rivers  which  are  lost  upon  the  desert." 
s 


66  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

Then  it  was  Mrs.  Morley's  turn  to  exhort, 
to  assure  her  friend  she  had  been  over 
worked,  and  was  morbid,  and  must  have  a 
dish  of  strong  gruel  made  immediately,  and 
must  stimulate  herself  with  some  cress 
and  onion  and  tomato-salad,  and  presently 
must  go  away  from  home  on  a  little  visit. 
"  Change  of  scene  to  us  is  like  change  of 
food  to  others,"  said  Mrs.  Morley,  and  Mrs. 
Pearmain  thought  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
wisdom  in  what  her  friend  said.  And  so 
Mrs.  Pearmain  went  away  to  a  water-cure, 
where,  as  the  authorities  could  not  find  any 
thing  the  matter  with  her  back,  they  began 
to  concern  themselves  about  her  brain,  upon 
which  she  returned  home  in  high  dudgeon. 

She  had  been  gone  just  long  enough.  A 
great  deal  of  mischief  can  be  accomplished 
in  three  months  when  people  are  seventeen 
or  eighteen  years  old — between  which  years 
Louie  now  hyng ;  and  Mrs.  Morley's  atten 
tion  had  been  called  off  by  a  series  of  ter 
giversations  on  Mr.  Morley's  part  that  had 
threatened  not  only  to  make  her  a  widow, 
but  to  destroy  her  system  of  operations. 
Her  own  nerves  had  been  badly  shattered 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  67 

by  his  behavior,  and  by  the  impossibility  of 
knowing  her  fate  from  dinner  to  dinner,  and 
subsequently  by  the  long  watching  and  wait 
ing  that  his  illness  devolved  upon  her  when 
indulgence  in  corned  pork  and  cabbage 
at  a  restaurant  had  produced  an  inflam 
mation  of  the  stomach  that  nearly  proved 
fatal  to  him.  On  his  recovery  a  demon  of 
hunger  had  seemed  to  be  gnawing  at  Mr. 
Morley's  vitals,  and  all  the  fancy  grits  and 
groats  in  the  market  did  not  meet  his  de 
mand.  Mr.  Morley  no  sooner  returned  to 
business  than  a  porter-house  steak  learned 
to  expect  him  on  the  noon  of  every  day. 

But  you  may  be  sure  that  this  was  very 
mortifying  to  Mr.  Morley.  "  Skulking  round 
a  corner  like  a  lean  dog  for  his  bone,"  as 
he  used  to  grumble,  was  enough  to  make  a 
sneak  of  any  man,  and  he  had  always  been 
proud  of  his  uprightness.  The  consciousness 
that  he  was  sacrificing  his  birthright  for 
a  mess  of  pottage  made  him  exceedingly 
morose ;  and,  convicted  of  his  own  derelic 
tion,  he  was  daily  and  hourly  trying  to  find 
some  fault  in  Mrs.  Morley  that  should  bal 
ance  it,  till  life  became  little  but  crimination 


68  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

and  recrimination  in  the  household  where  it 
had  been  expected  to  bring  about  the  millen 
nium.  Not  in  all  this  time  being  able  to  sum 
mon  the  courage  to  fight  it  out  with  his  wife, 
he  was  every  now  and  then  swearing  off 
again,  every  now  and  then  suffering  a  relapse, 
making  himself  a  martyr  to  dyspepsia  and 
remorse  ;  and,  forgetting  all  old  ties,  he  was 
encouraging  something  like  hatred  of  the 
Pearmains,  with  every  pang  that  came  from 
yielding  the  right,  from  abandoning  the  pleas 
ant,  or  from  indigestion.  Good  Mr.  Pear- 
main  went  on  his  patient,  plodding  way  with 
out  giving  Mr.  Morley  and  his  struggles  a 
second  thought;  but  Mr.  Morley,  in  turn, 
never  gave  a  second  thought  to  the  atmos 
phere  of  conciliation  that  of  late  years  had 
seemed  to  grow  up  about  Mrs.  Pearmain's 
manners.  Things  were  imbittered  for  him, 
too,  by  the  knowledge  that  the  world  had 
so  well  prospered  with  him  that  he  was  fully 
able  to  gratify  his  wishes,  but  with  all  his 
good  luck  and  good  bank  account  was 
obliged  to  live,  on  prison  fare.  He  lived, 
though,  only  in  the  hope  of  one  day  break 
ing  his  bonds;  and  the  thought  that  his 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  69 

darling  girl  was  being  reared  to  belong  to 
anything  belonging  to  the  Pearmains  grew 
daily  more  obnoxious  to  him. 

Mrs.  Morley,  however,  had  but  a  slight 
knowledge  of  what  went  on  in  the  little  cos 
mos  of  her  husband's  emotions  ;  she  had  no 
doubt  that  he  broke  faith  with  her  frequently 
in  the  matter  of  his  diet ;  she  used  to  make 
scornful  observations  as  to  the  freedom  of 
a  man  to  do  wrong  unobserved,  but  she  had 
no  idea  to  what  extent  that  faith  was  broken, 
and  only  once  in  a  while  dimly  felt  herself 
trembling  on  the  edge  of  a  rebellion  before 
whose  outbreak  she  would  go  under.  She 
was  not  at  all  happy,  only  triumphantly 
right,  and  she  nailed  her  colors  to  the 
mast,  and  swept  bravely  forward. 

Mr.  Morley  had  little  pleasure  at  home 
in  those  years  ;  somehow  all  conversation  led 
to  the  one  theme,  as  all  roads  lead  to  Rome. 
He  found  hardly  any  other  satisfaction  than 
in  walking  with  Louie  in  the  woods,  or  else 
taking  his  book  on  the  windy  upland  of  the 
hill  behind  the  two  estates  of  Pearmain  and 
Morley,  and  in  dreaming  his  life  away  in  the 
sun,  now  and  then  bursting  out  of  calm  repose 


70  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

into  a  storm  of  expletives  that  must  have 
startled  the  ground-mice  and  the  birds,  as  he 
thought  of  the  pleasure  he  might  have  taken 
with  his  dear  little  Teresa  "if  that  Pear- 
main  woman  had  never  fallen  foul  of  her." 

Once,  just  as  he  was  relapsing  into  quiet 
after  such  a  burst,  an  arm  stole  round 
his  neck,  and  a  soft  dimpled  brown  hand, 
with  a  big  pearl  on  it,  laid  itself  over  his 
mouth.  "Aren't  you  ashamed,  you  dear 
profane  Pa  Morley  ?"  cried  Louie,  and  her 
laughing  face  came  round  in  front  till  the 
great  black  eyes  looked  into  his  little  gray 
ones.  "  Where  do  you  expect  to  die  when 
you  go  to  ?  What  makes  you  swear  so,  sit 
ting  up  here  in  the  sun  ?  Is  it  some  tender 
reminiscence  connected  with  a  beef-bone? 
Listen  !  I'm  going  to  tell  you  a  great  secret. 
Do  you  know,  I  think  turtle-soup  is  almost 
as  good  as  mock-turtle  !" 

"Louie  !"  he  gasped. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  said,  with  the  gayest 
sort  of  a  mischievous  laugh,  pulling  herself 
round  by  the  sod  to  her  father's  side.  "  I 
mentioned  that  to  show  you  how  high  up  I 
am  in  the  graduating  class.  Turtle -soup 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  71 

and  terrapin  are  like  a  degree  cum  summd 
laudfr  in  the  comestible  line.  I  should  like 
mutton-broth  and  gumbo  every  day  when  I 
didn't  have  oyster-stew  or  chowder." 

It  is  true  that  in  the  instant,  despite  his 
own  wishes,  Mr.  Morley  recoiled  as  from 
a  cockatrice  inadvertently  hatched  in  his 
bosom. 

"  Now,  Pa  Morley,"  whimpered  the  sweet 
voice,  in  distress,  "  as  if  you  weren't  really 
glad  of  it !" 

"  But— but,  my  dear—" 

"Oh,  now  stop,  please.  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it.  And  it  isn't  our  fault  at  all.  Ma 
drove  us  to  it." 

"Our?" 

"Well,  yes,  Harry's  or  mine.  When  we 
found  out  what  ma  and  Mrs.  Pearmain  were 
after —  How  would  you  like  it,  I  want  to 
know,  Pa  Morley,"  she  suddenly  cried,  "  to 
have  folks  manoeuvring  about  you  in  that 
way;  to  be  set  apart  from  everybody  else 
in  the  world  in  that  indelicate,  indecent 
way ;  to  be  talked  over  as  the  —  the — 
the  beginner  of  a  great  future  perfect 
race—" 


72  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

"  It's  nonsense !  it's  nonsense  !"  cried  Mr. 
Morley,  springing  to  his  feet. 

"Now,  pa,  you  just  be  quiet.  I  am.  And 
I'm  the  party  most  directly  concerned,"  and 
she  coaxed  him  down  beside  her  again.  "  I 
don't  care  anything  about  that  great  future 
race.  This  race  is  good  enough  for  me.  And 
I  think  ma  and  Mrs.  Pearmain  might  be 
ashamed  of  themselves.  And  so  does  Harry." 

"  What !  you've  talked  it  over  ?" 

"  We've  heard  them  talking  it  over — oh, 
times  !  And,  pa  dear,  now  don't  you  go  to 
being  cross ;  it's  of  no  sort  of  use  to  speak 
to  them  about  it ;  and — and  the  fact  is,  I 
like  Harry  very  much  indeed,  very  much, 
and  so  does  he  like  me,  but  there's  some 
body  I  like  worlds,  worlds,  worlds  better." 

"Oh,  there  is,  is  there?"  And  her  fa 
ther  caught  her  shoulders  in  his  two  hands, 
and  held  her  at  arm's-length  till  the  face 
drooped  and  the  eyes  veiled  themselves,  and 
the  little  brazen  thing  was  blushing  and  half 
crying.  "  And  I  know  who  it  is  !"  he  cried, 
releasing  his  hold  and  clasping  the  pretty 
head  all  at  once  into  his  breast,  to  the  great 
damage  of  crimps  and  starch.  "You  don't 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES  73 

suppose  I've  seen  Dr.  Bonnamy's  gig  wait 
ing  round  these  lanes  so  long  for  noth 
ing?" 

"You  don't  care,  do  you,  pa?"  she  whis 
pered,  looking  up  from  her  resting-place. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  answered, 
smoothing  the  rich  hair  in  a  reckless  way. 
"What  am  /going  to  do  ?" 

"Threaten  ma  with  a  lunatic  asylum,  and 
make  her  behave  herself." 

"  No,  no ,  ma  has  her  rights.  She  be 
lieves  in  her  principles  thoroughly,  and  so 
do  I.  But  the  trouble  is  I  never  did  have 
any  backbone." 

"  Nobody  could  have,  or  any  other  bone, 
living  as  we  do." 

"  I'm — I'm  ashamed  of  it,  but  my  senses 
are  too  much  for  me.  Your  mother  ought 
to  have  married  a  better  man." 

"  For  shame,  Pa  Morley !  As  if  she 
could !" 

"  She'd  have  been  a  great  deal  happier, 
and  perhaps  have  founded  her  great  race. 
It  does  seem  a  shame  that  such  a  mighty 
plan  should  be  thwarted  just  because  I  love 
gravy.  She'll  say,  Louie,  that  the  reason 


74  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

you  love  soup  is  because  of  the  rebellion  of 
my  senses  against  the — " 

"Acquiescence  of  your  reason."  And 
then  they  both  laughed  like  two  children. 
"  It  isn't  only  soup,  though,"  said  Louie. 
"  I  love  everything  that's  good,  and  take  it 
whenever  I  can  get  it — chicken,  calf's-head, 
pork  and  beans— 

"  O  Lord  !  we  might  as  well  give  up,  then," 
groaned  Mr.  Morley. 

"  We  might  as  well  give  up,"  repeated 
Louie,  with  great  cheerfulness.  "  And  you'll 
help  us,  pa?" 

"  I  ?     I  ?     Why,  how  can  I—" 
"  Oh,  I  know  how  !     Just  say  you  will." 
"  If— if  I  dare  to,  my  darling." 
"Well,  I  won't  trouble  you  much;    not 
till  after  it's  all  done,  and  can't  be  helped. 
I  love  John  Bonnamy,  and  I  hate  the  great 
future  race  " — and  all  of  a  sudden  she  burst 
out  crying  inextinguishably,  and  it  was  all 
her  father  could  do  to  kiss  her  and  soothe 
her  into  calmness  before  walking  away  with 
her,  her  little  elastic  step  hardly  crushing 
the  grass,  into  the  wood  where  John  Bon 
namy  was  waiting. 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  75 

It  was  an  hour  or  two  later  in  the  day, 
just  as  the  first  tinge  of  sunset  began  to 
transmute  all  the  summer  world,  when  Mr. 
Morley  came  walking  back  alone  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  very  quiet,  very  dazed,  a 
little  stunned  it  may  be,  a  little  wondering 
if  nature  were  not  on  his  side  and  requiting 
his  wrongs  after  all.  For  what  was  this  he 
had  heard  in  the  wood — as  if  Louie's  story 
were  not  marvel  enough  ?  Harry  Peannain, 
Fanny  Farwell — those  two  children  ;  he  not 
a  day  more  than  twenty-one,  she  less  than 
his  Louie's  age — just  seventeen ;  a  secret 
whose  seal  no  one  dared  to  break.  He  didn't 
know  how  to  believe  it  all.  It  was  like  a 
dream.  He  felt  that  he  must  have  a  night's 
sleep  on  it,  and  see  if  he  dreamed  it  again, 
before  he  dared  to  think  of  it.  He  saw  a 
great  vista  of  release  opening  before  him, 
if  he  could  but  find  a  sword  to  hew  through 
the  first  hedge. 

There  was  a  shorter  cut  down  the  hill, 
that  took  him  round  under  the  Pearmain 
windows — those  pretty  mullioned  windows 
all  opening  on  the  ground ;  he  followed  it. 
And  he  never  knew  what  fate  it  was  that 


76  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

suddenly  made  him  turn,  and  tiptoe  tow 
ards  a  certain  window  of  them  all,  and 
pause  there,  looking  in — whether  some  ar 
resting  sight  had  caught  his  eye  and  di 
rected  his  feet  while  his  conscious  thoughts 
were  otherwhere,  or  whether  it  was  simply 
perverse  curiosity.  Whatever  it  was,  he 
delayed  there  some  seconds,  his  eyes  glar 
ing  out  of  his  head,  his  nose  flattened 
against  the  pane  of  the  narrow  pantry  win 
dow  till  it  shone  leprously  white  and  blue. 
And  in  that  plight,  as  if  magnetized  by  the 
fixity  of  his  gaze,  Mrs.  Pearmain  turned 
and  surveyed  him. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Morley!  Mr.  Morley !"  she 
cried,  as  well  as  the  circumstances  allowed 
her  to  enunciate.  "  Don't,  don't  betray 
me!" 

Mr.  Morley  chuckled.  It  was  a  moment 
of  glorious  recompense.  Here  was  his 
sword.  He  pushed  up  the  sash.  "  I'll 
take  a  bite,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Pearmain  stared  in  a  sort  of  stupor 
a  moment.  "  I — I  can't  help  it,  Mr.  Mor 
ley,"  she  stammered  then,  with  pale  and 
shaking  lips. 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  77 

"  It's  very  well  done,"  said  Mr.  Morley. 
"  It  shows  a  good  deal  of  experience — 

"  Oh,  the  doctor  ordered  it  long  ago,  and 
the  habit  grew  upon  me  ;  and  although  I 
gave  up  hope  for  myself,  I've  tried  to  keep 
the  way  straight  for  the  others — " 

"  Straight  and  narrow,"  said  Mr.  Morley, 
wiping  his  mouth. 

" — And  I've  talked  and  written  about  it, 
talked  to  every  one,  argued  with  every  one — 
you  know  I  have,  Mr.  Morley,"  she  cried, 
breathlessly,  the  tears  gushing — "  tried  to 
convert  every  one — " 

"  Enough  to  strike  a  balance.  I  under 
stand —  whited  sepulchres,  Pharisees,  and 
all  that.  You've  been  like  the  hero  of  the 
ballad  who  sat  in  the  corner  eating  his 
Christmas-pie.  You've  been  the  means  of 
starving  me  for  nearly  twenty  years  on  oat 
meal  mush,  while  you've  picked  your  bones 
and — " 

"  Mr.  Morley  !  you  can  still  insult — " 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I  don't  wish  to 
insult  you.  On  the  contrary,  I  think  you've 
shown  the  first  ray  of  sense  I've  seen  in 
you  for  twenty  years.  Only,"  said  Mr. 


78  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

Morley,  lifting  his  finger  impressively  be 
fore  his  victim's  eyes,  "  now  there's  to  be 
no  backing  down." 

A  stormy  half-hour  afterwards  Mr.  Mor 
ley  might  have  been  seen  springing  over 
the  railing  between  the  grounds  as  light  as 
a  boy,  and  he  ate  his  supper  of  oatmeal 
mush  with  the  relish  of  Jack  sitting  at  the 
foot  of  the  bean-stalk  he  was  about  to  fell ; 
for  he  never  meant  to  partake  of  that  viand 
again  in  his  life. 

The  phaeton  was  coming  round  to  the 
door  to  take  Mrs.  Morley,  in  the  long  twi 
light,  to  one  of  her  poor  women  whom  she 
helped  on  certain  vegetarian  conditions. 
The  pony  was  rather  gay,  and  pranced  a 
good  deal  as  Thomas  held  the  bridle.  "  It 
is  wonderful  the  strength  these  animals 
get  out  of  grains,"  said  Mr.  Morley,  art 
fully. 

"  Wonderful !"  said  Mrs.  Morley,  falling 
delightedly  into  the  trap. 

"And  the  weakness  other  animals  get," 
continued  Mr.  Morley.  "  My  dear,  did  you 
know  that  Mrs.  Pearmain  had  been  ailing 
for  some  time  ?" 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES  79 

"  Triflingly,"  said  Mrs.  Morley,  drawing 
on  her  gauntlets. 

"  My  dear,  if  you  saw  Mrs.  Pearmain 
standing  behind  her  pantry  door,  holding 
in  one  hand  part  of  a  cold  sausage,  the 
rest  of  which  was  in  her  mouth,  and  in  the 
other  hand  a  pickled  martinoe — " 

"  Do  talk  common-sense,  Mr.  Morley." 

"  I  call  that  very  common  sense — on  Mrs. 
Pearmain's  part.  As  I  was  saying,  in  such 
case  what  should  you  think  ?" 

"  I  shouldn't  think  at  all ;  I  can't  reason 
on  impossibilities." 

"  Do  you  believe  it  would  make  any  dif 
ference  as  to  your  tyranny  over  me?"  urged 
Mr.  Morley,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Tyranny,  George !"  said  Mrs.  Morley, 
turning  her  still  charming  face  wonderingly 
upon  her  husband. 

"  I  said  it  advisedly,"  replied  Mr.  Morley, 
with  sudden  acrimony. 

"  Is  that  tyranny  to  which  your  reason  so 
fully  consents  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Morley,  pulling 
off  her  gloves  for  a  combat,  in  reverse  of  the 
custom  of  those  knights  who,  before  the 
fray,  "  pulled  their  ringing  gauntlets  on." 


80  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

"Teresa,"  said  Mr.  Morley,  with  a  firm 
ness  that  surprised  himself,  *'  I  adore  your 
principles,  but  I  abhor  your  practice.  Don't 
pull  off  your  gloves,  my  love ;  that  poor 
woman  is  famishing  for  her  porridge.  Go 
your  ways,  child  ;  but  if  on  your  return  you 
run  over  to  Mrs.  Pearmain's  I  think  you 
may  learn  something  to  —  shall  I  say  your  ? 
— no,  to  my  advantage." 

And  little  Mrs.  Morley  went  her  ways, 
with  her  mind  in  a  state  of  bewilderment, 
and  shivering  as  she  remembered  that  the 
ancients  held  high  spirits  to  be  a  presage  of 
sudden  death. 

"  Louie,"  said  Mr.  Morley,  when  his  wife 
was  out  of  sight,  "  it  is  very  wrong  to  dis 
obey  your  mother." 

"  Yes,  pa." 

"  But  if  your  mother  has  given  no  orders, 
you  can't  disobey  them." 

"  No,  pa." 

"  And  it  is  equally  wrong  to  disobey  your 
father." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  pa,  dear." 

"  And  if  your  father  gives  you  orders,  you 
can  do  nothing  else  than  obey  them." 


BEST-LAID    SCHEMES  8l 

"  Certainly,  pa,  of  course." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  order  you  to  take  a 
goose  which  you  will  find  in  the  servants' 
larder,  and  tell  Jane  to  dress  it  and  roast 
it  at  once.  And  when  that  is  done  I  shall 
have  some  further  orders  to  give  you." 

When  Mrs.  Morley  returned  from  her 
visit  the  house  stood  dark,  with  open  doors 
and  windows,  and  the  fragrance  of  the 
honeysuckles  blowing  all  about  it,  but  with 
nobody  inside  it.  She  remembered  what 
her  husband  had  said,  and  hastened  across 
the  lawn  and  up  to  Mrs.  Pearmain's  lighted 
mansion,  arriving  there  just  as  Mr.  Pear- 
main  descended  from  the  coach  that  had 
brought  him  to  the  end  of  a  long  journey. 
She  spoke  with  the  worthy  man,  looked  up 
at  him  admiringly  in  the  dusk,  and  yet 
paused  one  instant  to  think  that  her  George, 
of  whom  no  one  stood  in  awe,  was  a  pleas- 
anter  person  for  a  husband  after  all.  In 
the  next  instant  a  sound  of  revelry  smote 
her  ears,  smote  Mr.  Pearmain's  too,  and 
they  went  in  together.  The  sound  came 
from  the  dining-room.  What  odor  was 
this  that  never  before  had  profaned  that 


82  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

pretty  room  ?  What  sight  was  this  that  sa 
luted  the  outraged  eye  ? 

There  stood  Mr.  Morley,  at  one  end  of 
the  freshly  laid  and  glittering  table,  with  his 
fork  in  the  breast-bone  of  the  goose  and 
his  knife  in  the  air.  There  sat  Mrs.  Pear- 
main,  pale,  with  traces  of  tears,  daintily 
picking  apart,  but  with  no  appetite  what 
ever,  a  slice  of  the  brown  breast.  There  sat 
Fanny  Farwell,  blushing  like  a  rose,  with 
Harry's  protecting  arm  just  thrown  across 
her  shoulder.  There  stood  Louie  Morley  at 
one  side  of  her  father,  flourishing  a  drum 
stick^  and  her  great  black  eyes  dancing  to 
the  music  of  Dr.  Bonnamy's  merry  laughter 
as  he  stood  upon  the  other  side. 

"My  dearest  love,"  said  Mr.  Morley, 
laying  down  his  knife  and  waving  his  hand 
towards  the  remnants  of  the  goose,  "  allow 
me  to  reintroduce  to  you  an  old  but  unfor- 
gotten  acquaintance— 

"  Oh,  indeed !"  cried  Mrs.  Morley,  too 
much  stupefied  to  express  indignation,  "  as 
if  I  had  not  seen  a  goose  every  day  of  my  life 
for  twenty  years  !" 

"  Not  roasted.     Pardon   me  ;   your  look- 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES  83 

ing-glass  reflects,  but  does  not  roast.  Per 
mit  me  also  to  remark  that  in  future  this 
acquaintance  shall  always  be  a  welcome 
guest  at  our  table,  to  which  —  while  I  ac 
cord  you  personally  all  liberty  of  groats  — 
so  help  me  Heaven,  I  never  mean  to  sit 
down  again  without  a  joint !  I  told  you  this 
afternoon  that  I  admired  your  principles, 
my  dear  Teresa.  If  I  had  known  Dr.  Bon- 
namy  earlier  and  better,  I  never  should 
have  made  so  foolish  a  speech,  and  we 
should  have  been  spared  some  years  of 
trouble.  Let  me  see.  You  declare  that  I 
inject  dead  flesh  into  my  veins  when  I  par 
take  of  this  delicious  morsel,"  refreshing 
himself  with  a  bit  of  the  goose.  "  Do  you, 
when  you  manure  your  hill  of  corn  with 
barn -yard  compost,  inject  that  disgusting 
material  into  your  ear  of  corn  ?  No ;  the 
chemistry  of  sun  and  air  absorbs  from  that 
compost  only  the  proper  constituents  of 
corn.  The  stomach  is  a  fine  laboratory  ;  it 
acts  in  the  same  way ;  it  sends  no  dead 
flesh  to  the  veins,  but  it  separates  that  food 
into  its  elements,  and  sends  merely  the 
proper  constituents  of  life  along  to  their 


84  BEST-LAID   SCHEMES 

absorbents.  Moreover,"  continued  Mr. 
Morley,  wiping  his  forehead,  and  amazed 
at  his  eloquence  and  temerity,  "  you  urge 
me  to  live  according  to  your  ideas,  be 
cause  comparative  anatomy  shows  that  an 
imals  with  cellulated  colons  are  herbiv 
orous,  and  man  has  a  cellulated  colon  — 
man  and  the  ape.  Is  that  right,  Dr.  Bon- 
namy  ?  I  am  now  convinced  that  the  first 
ape  that  forsook  his  herbivorous  diet  and 
smacked  his  lips  over  some  smoking  flesh 
began  to  differentiate  into  man  ;  and  you 
may  send  this  cellulated  colon  to  Mr.  Dar 
win  as  the  missing  link — 

"  Bravo,  papa,  bravo  !" 

"And  now,  Mrs.  Pearmain,"  said  Mr. 
Morley,  "  shall  I  speak  for  you  ?" 

"I — I  can't  speak  for  myself,"  said  Mrs. 
Pearmain,  bursting  into  tears,  and  seeing 
twenty  husbands  with  twenty  valises  all 
about  to  leave  her  forever,  and  gazing  at 
her  with  awful  austerities  of  farewell. 

"  Mrs.  Pearmain,  as  Dr.  Bonnamy  will 
assure  you,"  said  Mr.  Morley,  "was  ordered 
by  that  physician,  in  whom  you  all  believe 
so  heartily,  to  resume  her  pristine  diet  some 


BEST-LAID   SCHEMES  85 

years  since.  This  she  stoutly  refused  to  do; 
but  learning  that  her  life  depended  on  it,  I 
have  brought  this  bird  over  here,  and,  as  I 
may  say,  have  forced  her  to  share  it  with  us. 
The  rest,"  continued  Mr.  Morley,  happier 
than  he  had  been  for  years,  "I  hope  ex 
plains  itself.  Let  me  introduce  this  young 
lady" — as  the  little  thing  shrank  closer  and 
closer  to  her  proud  and  defiant  young  hus 
band —  "formerly  Miss  Fanny  Farwell,  but 
for  this  three  months  past  waiting  an  op 
portunity  to  confess  herself  Mrs.  Harry 
Pearmain.  And  that  done,  let  me  present 
to  you,  my  dear  wife,  Dr.  Bonnamy,  who 
became  your  son-in-law  an  hour  ago."  And, 
quite  out  of  breath.  Mr.  Morley  sat  down. 

The  whole  English  language  failed  to  do 
justice  to  the  occasion.  There  was  silence 
in  heaven  for  half  an  hour — that  silence 
echoed  here  for  half  a  moment,  perhaps, 
but  it  seemed  longer. 

"  I  hope  you  will  all  be  very  happy,"  said 
Mrs.  Morley,  then,  with  majesty,  but  a 
tremulous  voice.  "And  as  you  have  shown 
yourselves  so  capable  of  it  without  me,  I — " 

"  Now,  mother,  mother,"  said  Mr.  Mor- 


86  BEST-LAID    SCHEMES 

ley,  bending  over  the  goose  and  waving  his 
knife  and  fork  affectionately  towards  her, 
"  you  know  it  would  have  been  of  no  sort 
of  use  to  talk  with  you,  and  it  was  a  great 
deal  better  to  clear  your  skirts  of  all  re 
sponsibility."  Mr.  Morley  stopped  and 
regarded  the  -others.  Mr.  Pearmain,  wide- 
eyed  and  open-mouthed  and  silent  till  this 
juncture,  had  suddenly  broken  the  spell, 
dropped  his  valise,  and  bent  and  taken  his 
wife  in  his  arms.  "  Emily,  my  darling," 
he  was  saying,  "  why  didn't  I  hear  of  this 
before  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  would  have  sac 
rificed  your  precious  health,  your  life,  for 
a  whim  ?"  And  he  kissed  the  weak  woman 
tenderly  before  turning  to  the  others.  "And 
as  for  these  children,"  said  he. 

"Hear!  hear!"  cried  Mr.  Morley,  hila 
riously. 

"  Hear !  hear !"  cried  Louie,  who  had 
never  been  afraid  of  Mr.  Pearmain.  "  And 
will  you  sacrifice  us  for  a  whim,  ma  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Morley,  pouring  out  a 
bumper,  "  here's  to  the  great  future  perfect 
race.  Let  us  wish  it  long  life  and — posterity. 
We  have  only  postponed  it  a  generation." 


AN    IDEAL 


AN   IDEAL 

AGE  comes  to  some  people  only  like  the 
wider  opening  of  the  rose,  the  gentle  droop 
ing  of  the  creamy  outer  petal ;  and  one 
must  needs  think  of  this  in  looking  at  Mrs. 
Fernalde.  "  I  have  had  my  threescore  and 
ten,"  she  used  to  say.  "I  have  had  all 
that  nature  has  to  give,  and  now  I  am 
living  on  grace."  It  was  a  sunny  spirit 
that  informed  her,  a  lightsomeness  that 
never  let  the  substance  of  a  tear  penetrate 
beneath  the  surface  that  could  endure  noth 
ing  but  happiness.  Her  unfailing  good-nat 
ure  was  like  a  fairy  wand  that  smoothed 
every  trouble  out  of  her  way  and  out  of  the 
way  of  every  one  about  her.  If  her  hair 
was  white,  no  great  sorrow  had  made  it  so ; 
and  its  contrast  with  the  soft  brilliancy  of  a 
black  eye  and  the  velvet  flush  of  a  cheek 
unwritten  by  many  lines,  made  her  perhaps 


90  AN    IDEAL 

as  lovely  as  one  standing  in  all  the  full 
radiance  of  youth.  As  for  Mr.  Fernalde — 
tall,  dark,  spare  —  he  was  by  no  means  un 
attractive,  and  his  courtly  manners  had  a 
unique  elegance.  He  loved  his  ease ;  and 
annoyances,  when  they  chanced  to  break 
through  the  magic  circle  his  wife  drew 
about  him,  vexed  him,  as  they  usually  do  a 
nervous  person.  For  the  rest,  he  was  one 
of  those  men  who,  having  led  a  singularly 
fortunate  life,  maintain  to  themselves  a 
fancy  that  they  have  just  missed  the  last 
stroke  to  make  the  crystal  complete,  who 
have  a  vanishing  ideal  always  just  beyond 
sight  and  reach. 

The  Fernaldes  were  neighbors  of  ours. 
Wealth  required  no  exertion  of  them,  and 
advancing  age  secluded  them  in  some  meas 
ure  from  general  society  ;  their  home  was 
always  cheerful;  they  were  always  in  it; 
and  if  there  had  been  no  such  person  as 
crabbed  old  Mrs.  Talliafero,  who  had  spent 
the  last  six  months  with  them,  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  see  how  heaven  itself 
could  be  much  improvement  on  it.  How 
ever,  she  was  going  at  once,  and  then 


AN    IDEAL  91 

where  would  be  the  crumple  in  the  rose- 
leaf? 

These  old  people  loved  young  people. 
"  The  new  generation  lends  us  a  part  of  its 
freshness,"  they  used  to  say.  They  always 
welcomed  any  of  us,  and  indeed  made  me 
so  particularly  conscious  of  their  flattering 
favor  that  I  spent  a  good  portion  of  my 
time  with  them,  threaded  the  sweet  little 
lady's  needles,  read  and  wrote  more  or  less 
for  Mr.  Fernalde,  and  was  gradually  taken 
into  their  confidence,  which  I  am  about  to 
violate. 

"  Could  I  imagine  a  happier  old  age  than 
this,  my  child,  with  my  wife,  my  health,  my 
flowers,  our  birds  and  pets  and  friends  ?"  he 
said  once,  repeating  my  question.  "  Why, 
yes,  my  dear,  it  was  much  happier  before 
my  wife  brought  Mrs.  Talliafero  to  stay 
with  us.  Some  old  school-mate  or  girl 
friend  of  hers  —  I  don't  quite  know  —  for 
the  fact  is  she  nettled  me  so  the  first  day 
she  came  that  I  wouldn't  ask  Rosalie  a 
word  about  her,  for  fear  I  should  show  my 
displeasure  at  her  having  brought  her  home 
when  she  turned  up.  It  is  astonishing  how 


92  AN    IDEAL 

an  invisibly  small  thorn  will  destroy  your 
equanimity.  And  then  this  woman  has  a 
quality  that  would  turn  honey  into  vinegar, 
I  do  believe.  She  has  changed  our  quiet, 
peaceful,  sunshiny  life,  that  seemed  like 
one  long  day  in  June,  into  a  sharp,  raw 
day  in  November.  There  is  something 
very  rasping  about  her.  I  don't  see  what 
my  wife  invited  her  to  spend  such  a  season 
with  us  for.  I  wonder  if  she  thought  that 
at  the  end  of  the  time  I  should  press  for  a 
continuance  ?  My  dear,  I  have  counted 
the  days  —  it  sounds  sadly  against  all  hos 
pitable  rites — I  have  counted  the  days  till 
I  should  see  her  consult  a  railway  time 
table,  as  she  did  yesterday,  about  going 
home  to-day.  I  believe  she  is  not  in  affluent 
circumstances  now.  I  would  be  glad  to 
meet  the  expense  of  boarding  her  at  Buck 
ingham  Palace  if  that  would  keep  her  away! 
I  am  speaking  strongly.  Yes,  Rosalie," 
looking  at  his  laughing  wife,  "  I  know  you 
say  too  strongly.  But  it  is  argument,  as 
sertion,  contradiction,  differing,  bickering, 
finding  fault  with  the  servants  who  have 
suited  us  half  a  lifetime,  questioning  the 


AN    IDEAL  93 

expenditure,  disordering  the  arrangements 
from  one  day  to  the  next.  Think  of  it, 
when  she  comes  into  my  study  and  inveighs 
about  my  wife's  patience  in  enduring  such 
a  den  of  disorder  in  her  house.  She  won 
ders  that  I  do  not  wear  a  scratch.  She 
warns  me  of  indigestions,  she  threatens 
me  with  nightmares,  she  reminds  me  of 
my  age,  she  interferes  with  my  pipe  !  And 
then  she  wants  so  much  fresh  air !  Thank 
Heaven !  her  time  is  up  to-day,  and  my 
wife  will  not  invite  another  guest  for  a 
half-year  without  giving  me  time  to  arrange 
a  residence  elsewhere !  And  such  a  voice, 
too  !  When  one  hears  it,  one  longs  for  the 
proper  infirmities  of  age  that  dull  the  hear 
ing —  sharp  as  a  file,  piercing  as  a  locust's 
whirr!  What  are  you  laughing  at,  Rosa 
lie  ?" 

"Ah,  you  are  not  quite  just,  my  love," 
said  the  sweet  little  old  lady.  "  Mrs.  Tallia- 
fero  has  a  fine  mind.  She  is  really  waking 
us  up.  She  prevents  our  sinking  down  into 
a  jelly-like  existence,  as  so  many  of  our  age 
do.  She  keeps  us  bubbling." 

"There,   there,  there,   my  dear!     Don't 


94  AN    IDEAL 

say  another  word  about  your  Mrs.  Tallia- 
fero !  Go  and  spend  a  season  with  her 
at  Saratoga,  if  you  ever  want  to  see  her 
any  more.  I'll  go  to  Richfield.  Bubble ! 
She'd  make  sulphuric  acid  bubble  out  of 
the  sands  of  the  desert !  I've  no  doubt  she 
worried  Talliafero,  poor  man,  into  the  gravel 
But  there,  I've  said  too  much,"  he  added, 
directly.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  sweet,  if 
I  hurt  your  feelings  about  an  old  friend,  but 
really —  Now,  Rosalie,  my  love,  if  you  don't 
care  to  go  over  these  accounts,  our  young 
friend  will."  And  then  Mrs.  Fernalde  trip 
ped  off  with  as  light  a  foot  as  a  girl  of 
seventeen,  and  I  drew  up  the  great  folding- 
screen  around  our  chairs,  stirred  the  fire  a 
little,  and  took  pencil  and  paper  to  add  up 
the  figures  Mr.  Fernalde  was  to  read  out  to 
me. 

But  Mr.  Fernalde  was  in  a  brown-study 
for  a  little,  and  I  let  him  stay. 

"  It  was  strange  you  should  have  asked 
me  that  question,  child,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  I  used,  at  your  time  of  life,  to  imagine  a 
very  different  old  age  from  this,  if  I  may  so 
call  that  imagination,  for,  in  fact,  old  age 


AN    IDEAL  95 

never  entered  into  my  calculations.  I  imag 
ined  nothing  about  the  passage  of  time, 
only  of  the  continuance  of  a  condition. 
And  that  condition  was  the  perpetual  para 
dise  of  Alicia's  smiles." 

"  Rosalie,  you  mean,"  said  I. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Fernalde, 
shortly.  "  I  mean  Alicia." 

"  Alicia  ?" 

"Alicia,  who,  when  I  was  twenty,  was 
the  light  of  my  eyes  and  the  loadstar  of  my 
life." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir." 

"  Of  course  you  don't,  of  course  you 
don't.  I've  half  the  mind  to  tell  you,  though. 
It's  a  long  tiirj,e  ago — a  long  time — and  no 
harm  done.  One  is  perhaps  a  fool  at  sev 
enty,"  said  Mr.  Fernalde  presently  again. 
"  I'm  not  quite  eighty.  One  is  certainly  a 
fool  at  twenty.  I  was,  at  any  rate  ;  but  I 
didn't  know  it,  and  I  walked  in  a  fool's 
paradise.  And  to  be  a  fool  and  not  know 
it !  Is  there,  on  the  whole,  any  further 
paradise  ?  Pretty,  pretty  as  a  peach !"  he 
began  again,  after  another  pause.  "  Ah ! 
that  would  have  sounded  to  me  then  like 


96  AN    IDEAL 

profanity.  That  heavenly  fair  face !  those 
eyes  like  the  stars  in  a  blue  midnight !  that 
smile  of  exquisite  innocence  and  purity  !  I 
used  to  tremble  before  her  sometimes  as 
before  some  young  saint  stepped  from  a 
shrine  —  one  that  I  dared  to  desecrate  by 
loving.  Ah,  how  I  loved  her !  The  sight  of 
certain  flowers  brings  her  back  to  me  now ! 
When  the  apples  are  in  blossom,  that  pink 
and  white  snow,  that  ineffable  delicacy  of 
perfume,  calls  her  before  me  like  a  revela 
tion  !  There  are  times  when  this  eternal 
smoothness  of  things  in  my  life  palls  on  me 
—  times  when  I  cannot  bear  the  sound  of 
evening  bells  coming  across  the  water.  It 
so  renews  for  me  that  evening  —  that  even 
ing  when  I  lost  her  —  when  I  lost  her,  if  I 
found  Rosalie !" 

"  You  lost  her,  then  ?"  I  said,  to  break 
the  silence  that  followed. 

"  I  will  tell  you.  The  two  were  insepa 
rable.  If  I  walked  or  rode  or  sailed  with 
one,  the  other  was  not  far  away.  Rosalie 
was  a  little  gay,  tormenting  sprite ;  Alicia  a 
pensive  saint.  It  was  Alicia's  home ;  her 
father  was  a  man  of  wealth,  and  Rosalie 


AN    IDEAL  97 

was  visiting  her.  Rosalie  had  no  home,  no 
fortune ;  she  had  just  finished  school  and 
was  to  be  a  governess,  dreading  it  as  a  but 
terfly  might  dread  being  broken  to  harness, 
dreading  it  all  the  more  for  this  glimpse 
of  luxurious  life  in  her  friend's  home  since 
school.  I  myself  had  a  fortune  in  my  own 
right,  and  had  been  guilty  of  the  follies 
of  most  of  the  jeunesse  doree  of  that  peri 
od,  which,  if  comparatively  innocent,  were 
troublesome  enough  to  the  authorities  of 
my  college  to  need  discipline,  and  I  was 
passing  a  year  of  most  unhappy  rustication 
in  the  place  adjoining  Alicia's  home.  Never 
shall  I  forget  the  first  moment  in  which  I 
saw  Alicia  running  down  one  of  the  orchard 
aisles  with  her  white  garments  fluttering 
about  her,  and  her  fair  head  bent  over  the 
branch  of  apple-blossoms  in  her  hand.  If 
lightning  had  fallen,  the  revolution  that 
seized  me  could  not  have  come  more 
quickly.  I  seemed  to  be  changed  in  a 
twinkling,  to  have  been  borne  into  another 
planet.  I  felt  as  if  sunshine  had  pierced 
and  penetrated  once  impenetrable  gloom. 
When  I  fell  asleep  in  the  grass  of  that 


98  AN    IDEAL 

orchard,  and  woke  with  that  heavenly  creat 
ure  bending  over  me,  I  rose  only  to  walk 
on  air.  The  little  brown  face  of  Rosa 
lie,  with  its  carnations,  with  the  glint  and 
glance  of  its  great  brown  eyes,  with  its 
flood  of  brown  curls  that  had  a  touch  of 
gold  on  them,  with  the  glittering  teeth  of 
its  beautiful  laugh,  was  just  over  her  shoul 
der,  but  I  merely  know  I  saw  it  by  remem 
bering  it  afterwards.  She  was  only  a  shad 
ow  to  me  in  those  days  ;  and  as  for  me,  I 
was  only  Alicia's  shadow  myself.  She  lived 
and  moved  in  some  exalted  atmosphere,  to 
my  perception.  She  does  now.  Her  father 
wore  the  front  of  Jove ;  I  could  not  say 
that  he  did  not  carry  the  thunders.  I  felt 
myself  a  mote  in  the  broad  beam  of  their 
sunshine,  as  though  I  were  something  hardly 
visible  in  their  large  range  of  vision,  as  if 
it  required  an  effort  to  make  myself  per 
ceived  by  them.  I  hesitated  to  make  the 
effort — I  worshipped  from  afar.  When  she 
spoke  to  me  my  heart  beat  so  I  had  hardly 
voice  to  answer ;  when  she  touched  my 
hand  it  thrilled  me  through  and  through. 
And  I  asked  no  more.  I  thought  of  no 


AN    IDEAL  99 

more  for  a  while  than  just  to  continue  so 
forever ;  to  see  her  from  my  window  walk 
ing  under  the  long  aisles  of  the  low- 
branched  orchard,  like  some  mediaeval  pict 
ure ;  to  walk  beside  her  sometimes;  now 
and  then  to  venture  reading  from  the  same 
page  with  her,  now  and  then  to  be  her 
partner  in  the  dance.  That  Rosalie  should 
be  about  with  me,  riding  here,  strolling 
there,  walking  to  church,  reading  with  the 
old  pastor,  in  whose  charge  there  was  a  fic 
tion  that  I  was,  and  so,  in  a  way,  studying 
with  me — that  was  all  a  matter  of  common 
place  ;  she  was  sweet,  she  was  fresh,  she 
was  charming.  But  what  was  all  that  when 
an  angel  was  in  the  room  ? 

"  One  night  I  was  on  the  gallery  just  out 
side  their  drawing-room,  looking  in  at  the 
long  window,  and  Alicia  was  singing.  Ah, 
how  delicious  was  that  voice !  The  cheru 
bim  and  seraphim  who  continually  do  sing, 
if  I  ever  hear  them,  will  not  sing  so  sweet 
ly.  I  wonder  to  whom  that  voice  is  sing 
ing  now !  Beside  her,  that  night,  was  the 
scamp  who  had  come  to  the  place  more 
than  once — a  proud,  commanding  fellow  in 


100  AN    IDEAL 

his  undress  uniform,  a  man  whom  her  father 
plainly  intended  she  should  marry.  I  can 
see  the  scene  now  —  the  rich  and  dimly 
lighted  room  full  of  purple  shadows,  the 
air  laden  with  the  scent  of  flowers ;  Alicia 
in  her  white  drapery,  more  mystical,  more 
beautiful,  more  holy,  as  she  sang,  than  if 
revealed  in  the  glow  of  her  beauty  ;  outside, 
the  violet  depths  of  the  sky,  and  the  moon 
just  falling,  like  some  great  golden  flower, 
low  in  the  west ;  and  as  Alicia's  voice  be 
came  silent,  a  choir  of  bell -tones  coming 
far  and  fine  and  free  across  the  water,  like 
echoes  of  her  song  in  heaven.  My  heart 
swelled  with  a  fulness  of  rapture ,  life 
seemed  too  rich,  too  sweet,  too  sacred — 
and  then  I  saw  that  man  stoop  and  kiss 
her  brow ! 

"The  action  turned  me  to  stone  for  a 
moment,  till  he  came  sauntering  to  the 
window,  and  I  knew  no  more  what  I  was 
doing  than  that  bronze  Perseus  in  the  cor 
ner  would  if  he  moved.  I  lifted  the  hand 
that  had  seemed  stone,  and  as  he  passed 
me  I  struck  him  on  the  mouth — the  mouth 
that  had  done  the  profanation." 


AN    IDEAL  toi 

And  Mr.  Fernalde  was  quiet  a  little  while. 

"  And  that  was  the  end  of  all  things,"  he 
resumed.  "  The  fellow  laughed  at  me  for 
a  mad  boy.  Her  father  launched  one  of  the 
thunderbolts,  and  forbade  me  the  house. 
What  a  stricken  day  and  night  of  wretch 
edness  !  What  a  week  of  hopelessness,  of 
annihilation  !  But  perhaps  Alicia  felt  dif 
ferently  from  these  creatures.  Why  should 
I  not  discover  ?  Why  should  I  suppose  she 
had  any  other  sympathy  with  that  wretch 
than  the  sympathy  of  the  star  with  the  worm  ? 
And  if  my  glad  peradventure  were  true — 
why  then  we  could  fly  from  these  places 
that  should  know  us  no  more ;  the  world  was 
before  us ,  heaven's  gates  were  open  to  us. 
And  I  wrote — my  hand  trembling  at  its 
sacrilegious  daring — just  a  dozen  lines,  with 
out  address,  without  signature.  She  would 
know  what  it  meant.  And  I  sent  it  by  the 
parson's  boy.  And  I  waited  for  her,  lying 
on  the  grass  beneath  the  orchard  trees,  in 
the  deep  gloom  just  gilded  by  the  influence 
of  the  unseen  moon.  There  came  the  rus 
tling  of  garments,  the  tripping  of  a  foot ;  my 
heart  beat,  my  eyes  grew  dim.  Was  it  she 


101  AN    IDEAL 

coming  up  behind  me,  as  I  lay  lifted  on  my 
elbow,  kneeling  and  putting  her  arms  about 
me,  raining  swift  kisses  on  my  face  ?  — 
wild  sweet  kisses  in  that  shadow  ;  wild 
passionate  whispers  in  that  silence  !  And 
then  a  great  pang  smote  me ;  and  I  rose 
and  went  out  with  her  into  the  less  dim 
darkness — and  it  was  Rosalie. 

"  She  never  knew,"  said  Mr.  Fernalde, 
"  she  does  not  know  to-day,  that  I  died  that 
night.  I  can't  say  how  I  lived  through 
those  moments  even.  They  were  but  mo 
ments  she  had  stolen  away.  She  had  to 
return  at  once.  We  parted  at  the  foot  of 
the  mock-orange  walk,  and  I  went  to  my 
bed  and  lay  there  in  a  trance  of  despair. 
Perhaps  sunlight  brought  some  relief.  The 
parson  told  at  the  breakfast-table  the  news 
that  Alicia  was  betrothed  to  the  army  offi 
cer  I  had  seen.  I  wrote  a  word,  saying 
I  was  called  away.  And  I  was  gone  a 
week  or  more.  But  in  that  blank  I  must 
have  something  to  love  me  —  to  have  an 
interest  in.  Better  Rosalie  than  the  ab 
solute  negation  of  those  days.  She  thought 
nothing  of  my  absence — after  my  return. 


AN    IDEAL  103 

She  was  as  full  of  romance  as  a  flower  of 
nectar.  And,  to  sum  it  up,  if  she  was  not 
the  rose,  she  had  lived  with  the  rose.  One 
day  we  married  ;  and  here  we  are.  A  long 
life,  a  happy  life,  and  I  have  never  regret 
ted  the  day  in  it  that  made  her  my  wife. 
After  all,  one  cannot  marry  among  the  an 
gels — clay  must  mate  with  clay. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  Not  love  her,  my 
child  ?  You  never  were  more  mistaken.  I 
love  her  tenderly,  absorbingly.  She  is  a 
perfect  woman.  She  has  been  a  perfect 
wife.  She  has  made  me  calmly  and  com 
pletely  happy.  If  once  in  a  while  the  old 
hope,  the  old  dream  of  a  passion  arises  and 
sweeps  before  me  in  its  bloom  and  light,  it 
is  because  it  means  youth  to  me — that  youth 
which  we  do  not  know  till  we  are  old — is 
itself  the  ideal  that  it  holds  up  for  worship. 
Yet,  perfect  as  my  wife  is,  fifty  years  of  this 
smooth  life  with  her  wear  something  of  the 
common-place,  and  if  across  their  dead  level 
of  same  content  sometimes  gleams  the  shin 
ing  of  Alicia's  face,  it  is  not  in  any  disloy 
alty  to  her.  I  often  wonder  what  became 
of  the  lovely  creature.  Once  1  could  not 


104  AN 

have  spoken  of  her.  At  seldom  times,  when 
I  sit  alone  by  the  fire,  she  comes  and  sits 
beside  me,  and  gleams  of  light  and  shadow 
make  a  face  with  her  sweetness,  her  beauty, 
her  pensive  and  ethereal  grace.  Dear  girl ! 
I  suppose  she  sleeps  in  her  grave  by  this ; 
but  she  is  a  shaft  of  the  light  of  heaven  in 
my  memory !" 

And  Mr.  Fernalde  rose,  walking  to  the 
window,  just  as  the  screen  began  to  trem 
ble,  and  a  smothered  cough,  and  then  an 
undisguised  one,  betrayed  to  me,  if  not  to 
him,  that  Mrs.  Fernalde  had  heard  the 
chief  part  of  the  monologue. 

"And  I  had  heard  it  in  fragments  and 
sections  more  than  once  before,"  she  after 
wards  told  me  with  her  pleasant  smile.  "  I 
know  it  means  nothing — that  he  is  just  as 
wholly  mine  as  I  am  his — that  our  love  is 
the  imperishable  sort — that  we  are  welded 
into  one  by  fifty  years  together.  And  per 
haps  it  was  ignoble  of  me  to  break  the 
pretty  bubble,  to  take  away  his  little  ideal, 
with  which  he  has  found  comfort  whenever 
I  would  have  my  own  way  too  much.  Yet 
I  thought  it  was  about  time." 


AN    IDEAL  105 

But  she  said  nothing  of  this  at  all  as 
she  came  bustling  round  the  corner  of  the 
screen  that  morning. 

"  There  is  such  a  gale  blowing  outside," 
she  said,  "that  the  dust  really  rises  in  the 
house  fit  to  choke  one." 

"  You  haven't  caught  cold,  Rosalie  ?" 
said  her  husband,  turning  in  concern. 

"  Not  the  least.  But  I  shall  if  the  hall- 
door  is  open  another  moment.  There  she 
comes  now.  Make  haste,  and  bid  Alicia 
good-bye,  my  love.  She  is  just  going." 

"  Who  ?"  he  cried,  suddenly  opening  his 
eyes  like  lamps  in  their  deep  settings. 

"  Alicia — Mrs.Talliafero — dear.  She  mar 
ried  again,  you  know.  Oh,  it  has  been  a 
fine  jest,"  she  cried,  with  her  low  laugh, 
"  to  think  that  you  should  not  have  recog 
nized  Alicia  in  all  these  weeks  and  months !" 

Mr.  Fernalde  was  silent  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  looking  at  the  cruel  little  lady  be 
fore  him,  with  her  color  like  the  half-tar 
nished  rose,  with  the  soft  brilliancy  of  her 
smile.  Then  he  crossed  over  the  hearth 
before  me,  and  he  took  her  hands  and  bent 
down  and  kissed  her  mouth. 


106  AN    IDEAL 

"  My  Rosalie,"  said  he,  "  will  you  not 
make  my  adieus  to  Mrs.  Talliafero  your 
self?  Tell  her — tell  her  I  have  gone  to  the 
funeral  of  an  old  friend !" 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S   SKELETON 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S   SKELETON 

SHE  always  carried  it  about  with  her  ;  but 
it  was  not  her  bones.  And  as  this  is  not  a 
conundrum,  I  may  as  well  say  at  once  that  it 
was — well,  it  was  connected  with  her  domes 
tic  difficulties. 

Nobody,  casually  observing  Mrs.  Claxton, 
would  have  dreamed  her  to  be  the  possessor 
of  so  disagreeable  an  article,  least  of  all  one 
that  was  constantly  a  companion,  and  that 
could  not  be  locked  up  in  a  closet,  and  left 
behind  when  she  went  where  folks  were  gay 
and  happy. 

For  my  own  part,  understanding  how  un 
reasonable  it  would  be  to  expect  any  lot  to 
be  a  perfect  thing,  and  inclining  towards  the 
old  saw  about  a  skeleton  in  every  closet,  I 
sometimes  used  to  wonder  what  earthly  ma 
terial  there  was  from  which  Mrs.  Claxton 
could  get  one  up ;  yet  felt  tolerably  sure,  for 


1 10  MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

all  her  smiles  and  her  pleasant  manners,  for 
all  her  fineries  and  luxuries,  that  there  must 
be  something  to  make  her  resigned  to  the 
necessity  of  one  day  surrendering  her  hold 
upon  those  desirable  things  surrounding  her 
at  present  in  such  abundance. 

For  why  should  Mrs.  Claxton  be  an  excep 
tion  ?  Look  up  and  down  the  hills,  with  the 
familiar  sight  that  neighbors  have,  and  you 
could  have  seen  trouble  in  too  many  houses 
to  be  able  to  believe  the  Claxton  house 
exempt.  For  in  this  house  bitter,  grinding 
poverty  and  pride  had  their  perpetual  battle 
ground  ;  that  house  death  had  robbed  of  its 
sunshine ;  in  the  next  house  the  disgrace  of 
a  defalcation  had  made  life  a  burden  ;  still 
beyond,  a  cloud  of  insanity  hung,  ready  to 
fall ;  here  a  drunken  son,  there  an  unfaithful 
husband  ;  in  such  a  house  a  frivolous  wife,  in 
such  another  idiotic  children  :  up  and  down 
the  streets,  in  every  house,  something  ;  no 
matter  what  the  compensations  were,  no  mat 
ter  how  much  happiness  otherwise ;  yet  al 
ways  some  one  bitter  thing,  perhaps  to  give 
a  better  relish  with  its  tang  to  all  the  sweet. 

So  what  could  Mrs.  Claxton's  trouble  be  ? 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON  m 

She  lived  in  the  finest  place  in  the  town, 
her  handsome  house  upon  a  sightly  knoll, 
a  shaven  lawn  dotted  with  noble  trees  slop 
ing  away  from  it  on  all  sides.  Within,  it 
seemed  to  our  rustic  eyes  a  witch-land  of 
beauty  and  of  all  the  cunning  appliances 
of  art  for  comfort.  She  had  her  open  lan 
dau  and  her  span  for  summer  driving,  her 
sleighs  full  of  costly  robes  for  winter,  her 
servants,  her  overflowing  purse,  her  husband 
and  children,  her  dresses.  Yes,  her  dresses  ; 
no  one  in  Claxtonberg  had  any  to  compare 
with  them.  She  had  the  glory  of  setting  the 
fashion,  and  of  holding  a  lofty  pre-eminence 
in  it,  and  the  bliss  of  knowing  that  the  last 
new  wrinkle  in  her  pouf,  or  her  sleeve,  or 
her  back  hair  was  being  studied  every  Sun 
day  with  an  assiduity  that  put  the  prayer- 
book  to  open  shame.  And  besides  all  this 
Mrs.  Claxton  was  very  pretty  :  everybody 
admired  her ;  everybody  else  loved  her. 
She  had  company  when  she  pleased,  so  far 
as  we  knew  ;  she  went  on  journeys  when  she 
chose  ;  and  when  the  bishop  came  he  al 
ways  stayed  with  her.  What  was  there  out  of 
which  Mrs.Claxton's  skeleton  could  be  made? 


112  MRS.  CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

It  could  not  be  that  this  skeleton  had 
found  existence  because  her  husband  was 
not  a  distinguished  man  in  politics,  for  no 
woman  who  had  any  regard  for  her  own 
happiness,  or  his  either,  would  want  her 
husband  in  politics ;  and  Mrs.  Claxton  had 
the  greatest  regard  for  the  happiness  of 
both.  It  could  not  be  because  she  had  no 
children,  for  she  had  four,  fine  ones.  It 
could  not  be  because  her  children  were  not 
boys  or  were  not  girls,  for  there  were  two 
sisters  and  two  brothers  among  them.  It 
couldn't  be  because  her  husband  was  still 
in  business,  since  his  mills  brought  him  in 
a  royal  revenue  every  year,  and  he  would 
be  lost  without  the  business.  It  could  not 
be  because  her  husband  was  tired  of  her, 
for  everybody  in  Claxtonberg  knew  to  the 
contrary,  knew  that  he  surrounded  his  wife 
with  everything  heart  could  wish,  knew  that 
the  breath  of  scandal  had  never  approached 
him.  It  could  not  be  because  of  any  im 
pending  disease  that  was  to  darken  her 
house,  for  they  were  all  in  a  state  of  no 
torious  health.  What  in  the  world  could 
this  skeleton  be  ? 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON  113 

I  had  just  as  lief  tell  you  as  not — if  you 
will  listen. 

When  this  lady  first  met  the  gentleman 
who  became  her  husband,  his  high-bred 
courtesy,  his  knightly  manner,  rivalled  that 
of  the  great  dignitaries  around  them  ;  he, 
not  any  of  them,  seemed  to  her  the  true 
nobleman  ;  and,  not  to  weary  you,  she  ac 
cepted  him  the  moment  he  asked  her.  She 
was  the  governess  of  a  friend's  children,  and 
the  family  were  staying  at  some  wonderful 
foreign  baths  where  the  marble  basins  were 
more  than  a  mile  around,  and  where  the  court 
came  to  bathe.  Every  morning  the  Majes 
ties  and  Sublimities  and  high  and  mighty 
Excellencies  went  into  the  bath,  king  and 
queen  and  chamberlains,  grand  duchesses 
and  princesses  and  ladies-in-waiting,  and 
from  unobserved  chinks  the  commonalty 
watched  the  shoal  of  nobility  disporting  it 
self.  And  what  a  scene  it  was  to  watch ! 
For  the  flannel  bathing  suits  were  under 
water,  but  out  of  water  what  elaborate  hair- 
dressing,  what  a  blaze  of  jewelled  tiaras  and 
coronets,  what  flashing  diamond  necklaces 
upon  white  throats,  what  point-lace  fichus 


114  MRS.  CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

and  berthas  overlaid  with  strings  of  resplen 
dent  gems  to  the  water's  edge,  what  loading 
of  bracelets  on  bare  arms,  what  glancing  of 
rings  on  fingers !  for  the  court  was  in  full- 
dress  in  the  presence  of  the  sovereign. 

As  Mr.  Claxton  looked  from  the  window 
of  his  room  upon  the  brilliant  scene  he  felt 
a  lofty  republican  contempt  —  indeed,  con 
tempt  was  Mr.  Claxton's  forte — which  was 
not  lessened  when  the  crowd  of  commoners 
went  in,  in  their  turn,  aping  the  bediamonded 
ways  of  those  who  went  before.  One  young 
girl  among  the  throng,  who  wore  only  the 
dress  suitable  to  the  occasion,  and  was  with 
out  any  other  ornament  than  the  shrouding 
veil  of  her  own  long  hair,  attracted  him — in 
the  first  place  by  her  simplicity,  and  in  the 
next  place  by  a  manner  that  seemed  to  be 
at  once  sweet  and  stately :  there  was  a  sort 
of  shy  and  startled  look  in  her  great  soft 
brown  eyes  if  one  addressed  her;  there  was 
so  rich  a  color  on  her  cheek  too;  and  the 
features  of  her  lovely  face  were  so  finely  in 
keeping  with  that  half-defiant  carriage  of 
the  perfect  head.  In  such  a  pack  of  frip 
pery  her  plain  attire  was  pre-eminence  to 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  115 

Mr.  Claxton,  whose  feelings  were  exceed 
ingly  ruffled ;  for  he  was  accustomed  to  ob 
sequious  consideration  at  home,  and  here 
he  was  less  than  a  cipher;  and  revenging 
himself  by  despising  the  whole  affair,  he 
knew  no  better  way  of  proclaiming  it  than 
by  passing  over  all  the  titled  and  spangled 
beauties,  and  devoting  himself  to  this  simple 
young  girl.  If,  meanwhile,  the  titled  beau 
ties  did  not  know  of  his  existence,  that  was 
something  he  never  suspected,  and  he  lost 
no  time  in  making  the  young  girl's  acquaint 
ance.  It  mattered  not  to  him  that  she  was 
a  governess,  as  it  would  not  if  she  had  been 
a  beggar  and  had  attracted  him.  He  was 
one  of  those  men  who  consider  their  actions 
their  own  justification  ;  his  desires  were  a 
law  to  themselves.  After  he  married  her 
she  would  be  Mrs.  Claxton — a  glory  which 
every  Claxton  that  had  ever  married  felt  to 
be  quite  capable  of  blotting  out  all  that  might 
ever  have  gone  before  in  the  lives  and  his 
tories  of  the  poor  brides.  As  for  the  young 
girl,  treated  kindly  by  her  friend,  but  kept  in 
the  background,  and  not  wont  to  have  the 
attention  of  young  men,  and  with  that  vague 


H6  MRS.  CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

longing  for  it  natural  to  girls,  somewhat 
lonely,  and  altogether  dependent,  her  heart 
leaped  up  in  gratitude  to  this  stranger,  with 
whose  family  and  antecedents  her  friend 
was  well  acquainted.  People  said  he  was 
like  a  young  prince  :  she  never  remembered 
to  think,  in  liking  to  hear  them,  that  princes 
are  the  masters  of  slaves,  and  that  for  a 
plain  private  to  be  a  young  prince  simply 
meant  that  he  was  a  person  who  would  have 
his  own  way  if  he  had  to  be  a  tyrant  to  do 
it.  When  he  proposed  she  accepted  him, 
as  I  said;  she  already  loved  him  with  de 
votion  ;  she  married  him  in  all  haste— to  re 
pent  in  all  leisure. 

And  Mr.  Claxton,  making  the  tour  of  Eu 
rope  like  a  good  American,  was  suddenly 
summoned  home  by  an  event  which  left  him 
the  possessor  of  the  great  mills  and  the  great 
business,  and  he  installed  his  wife  in  his 
great  house,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  done 
more  for  her  than  she  had  a  right  to  ask, 
and  he  expected  from  her  thenceforward  a 
slavish  obedience. 

To  tell  the  whole  truth,  though,  Mr.  Clax 
ton  did  not  know  that  he  expected  a  slavish 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  117 

obedience.  His  intention  was  to  do  right 
exactly,  and  perhaps  lean  to  mercy's  side. 
He  had  been  reared  in  a  school  that  held 
the  wife  to  be,  so  to  say,  a  chattel,  and  he 
would  have  been  as  much  surprised  to  find 
his  wife  differing  from  him  as  he  would 
have  been  to  hear  his  wooden  din  ing-table 
speak  up  and  complain  of  the  dinner:  he 
looked  for  absolute  agreement.  If  you  had 
asked  him  if  he  believed  that  a  man  had 
a  right  to  beat  his  wife,  he  would  have 
indignantly  answered  no,  and  demanded 
of  you,  furthermore,  what  it  was  you  took 
him  for;  but  if  he  himself  had  chanced  to 
strike  his  wife,  he  would  not  have  felt  it  an 
act  to  be  questioned  by  anybody.  His  wife 
was  his.  That  he  did  not  put  a  rope  round 
her  neck  and  sell  her  in  open  market  was 
out  of  his  abounding  condescension.  He 
allowed  her  many  favors — such,  for  instance, 
as  the  liberty  to  breathe.  For  her  to  re 
ward  him  by  having  an  opinion  of  her  own 
on  any  subject  would  have  astounded  him. 
If  he  had  chosen  to  take  her  children  away 
from  her  he  would  have  thought  her  com 
plaint  monstrous ;  if  he  had  knocked  down 


Il8  MRS.   CLAXTON  S   SKELETON 

her  own  mother  and  trodden  on  her  he 
would  have  thought  her  remonstrance  cul 
pable,  and  would  have  punished  her  for  it 
to  the  best  of  his  ability,  not  by  whips 
and  stocks,  not  by  imprisonment  or  depri 
vation,  but  by  withholding  his  royal  favor 
in  some  signal  manner.  In  fact,  in  Mr. 
Claxton's  ideal  household  there  was  but 
one  will,  one  mind,  one  identity,  and  that 
was  Mr.  Claxton's.  And  that  household  was 
a  not  at  all  uncommon  instance  of  an  un 
recognized  tyranny  worse  than  Diocletian's 
own. 

In  spite  of  all  this,  if  you  can  believe  me, 
Mr.  Claxton  loved  his  wife — not  as  he  did 
his  own  soul,  indeed,  but  next  to  that,  one 
might  say.  She  had  only  to  ask— but  ask 
she  must— to  have 'her  wish  gratified.  If 
she  were  ill,  he  knew  no  peace,  and  let  no 
one  else  know  any,  till  she  were  well  again. 
He  admired  her  beauty,  her  lovely  manner, 
her  stately  air;  he  did  not  object  to  that 
soupfon  of  spirit  when  directed  towards  other 
people ;  he  felt  that  she  added  a  lustre  to 
his  station.  He  was,  in  short,  very  proud 
of  her ;  but  he  would  not  for  the  world  have 


MRS.   CLAXTON S    SKELETON  119 

had  her  know  it.  For  where  would  disci 
pline  be  then  ? 

Well,  it  might  perhaps  have  answered 
with  somebody  else,  but  it  did  not  answer 
at  all  with  Mrs.  Claxton.  In  truth,  Mr. 
Claxton  had  been  married  hardly  a  year  be 
fore  he  began  to  suspect  that  he  had  a  rebel 
in  his  house,  or,  as  he  phrased  it,  a  viper  in 
his  bosom ;  and  he  prepared  to  take  extraor 
dinary  measures. 

As  for  Mrs.  Claxton,  her  feeling  for  her 
husband  was  of  the  warmest ;  she  regarded 
him  for  a  long  time  as  the  best  and  greatest 
man  alive,  and  by  far  the  handsomest.  She 
knew  he  had  faults,  but  understood  that  all 
men  abounded  in  faults,  and  presumed  that 
other  men's  faults  were  very  much  worse 
than  his.  She  thought  it  likely  that  he 
could  not  have  written  the  Iliad,  but  then 
she  didn't  know  that  it  was  desirable  to 
have  written  the  Iliad ;  yet  she  was  sure 
he  could  have  written  Tillotson's  Sermons, 
or  Macaulay's  Essays,  or  Mill's  Logic,  and 
that  he  could  be  President  of  the  United 
States  on  any  day  he  wished  it,  and  confer 
new  dignity  upon  the  office.  There  was 


120          MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON 

only  one  thing  she  would  have  liked  differ 
ent  about  him  :  she  would  have  liked  him 
to  consider  her  more  on  an  equality  with 
himself. 

And  yet  at  first  she  used  to  question  if  that 
were  not  an  unreasonable  exaction  on  her 
part — she,  who  had  been  nothing  but  a  poor 
little  governess,  to  demand  so  much,  and  he 
the  owner  of  the  vast  Claxtonberg  mills,  the 
descendant  of  the  old  Claxtons  of  Claxton 
berg,  a  castle  across  the  water  that  had  de 
fied  assault  for  generations,  and  in  which 
monarchs  had  held  state,  if  the  Claxtonberg 
legends  could  be  trusted.  Though,  between 
ourselves,  I  always  imagined  that  the  person 
whom  Mr.  Claxton's  grandfather  employed, 
after  he  had  acquired  wealth,  to  hunt  up  his 
family  traditions  for  him,  his  coat-of-arms 
and  crest,  found  only  and  exactly  what  his 
employer  wanted  him  to  find. 

However  that  might  be,  Mrs.  Claxton's 
eyes  used  to  follow  her  husband  with  an 
adoring  look  in  them.  His  noble  figure, 
his  lofty  bearing,  the  large,  fair  comeliness 
of  his  fresh  face  and  its  aquiline  contour, 
his  great  gray  eyes  and  his  bright,  curling 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  121 

hair,  seemed  to  her  a  representation  of  the 
noblest  type  of  manhood ;  the  sound  of  his 
voice  was  music,  the  sound  of  his  foot-fall 
was  something  she  always  ran  to  meet — 
that  is,  in  the  first  year. 

It  was  an  odd  little  circumstance  that 
caused  Mrs.  Claxton's  cloudy  suspicion  of 
her  husband's  injustice  to  settle  into  an 
absolute  curd  of  sourness.  Odd,  because 
so  slight :  it  was  the  naming  of  their  first 
child. 

"  You  are  looking  peculiarly  well,  my 
love,"  said  Mr.  Claxton,  condescendingly, 
happening  to  see  his  wife  in  the  glass  as  he 
drew  his  razor  over  the  hone.  "  Like  a 
flower  in  full  bloom,"  jocosely. 

Mrs.  Claxton  blushed  and  looked  lovelier 
yet.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  think  so,"  said  she. 
"  I  was  really  afraid  I  was  falling  off.  And 
that  would  be  such  a  shame,  for  I  want  the 
baby  to  remember  me  when  I  look  my  best." 

"  Let  me  hear  him,"  said  Mr.  Claxton, 
gayly,  "  expressing  any  opinion  other  than 
my  own  on  that  subject,  if  he  thinks  best !" 
And  he  kissed  his  wife  as  she  came  and 
stood  beside  him  while  looking  for  some- 


122  MRS.   CLAXTON  S     SKELETON 

thing  in  the  dressing-case  drawer,  and  then 
he  plunged  into  the  business  on  hand. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Claxton,  after  a  few 
moments,  looking  up  timidly,  from  the  seat 
she  had  taken,  to  the  spot  where  her  hus 
band  stood  holding  the  tip  of  his  nose  with 
one  hand  while  he  flourished  his  razor  be 
neath  it  with  the  other  —  for  Mr.  Claxton 
never  risked  his  greatness  sufficiently  to 
have  a  valet  de  chambre — "I  think  Henry 
would  really  be  the  fit  name,  after  all,  being 
yours,  and  your  father's — and  your  grand 
father's  too,  wasn't  it  ?  And  then,  do  you 
know,  it  was  my  father's  also.  And  I 
should  so  like  to  unite  them  all  in  one !" 

I  doubt  if  Mrs.  Claxton  would  have  vent 
ured  to  reopen  this  subject,  after  a  previous 
conversation,  but  for  the  little  compliment 
she  had  received,  and  for  the  fact  that  when 
a  man  stands  holding  the  tip  of  his  nose  in 
one  hand,  with  his  upper  lip  stretched  like 
an  apron  beneath  it,  he  is  not  altogether  an 
object  of  awe. 

But  Mr.  Claxton  did  not  give  an  imme 
diate  answer.  He  seldom  did ;  whether  to 
signify  that  he  was  on  such  an  altitude 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  123 

above  common  mortals  that  it  took  some 
time  for  the  sound  of  their  voices  to  reach 
him,  or  whether  it  cost  him  an  effort  to  ac 
knowledge  the  independent  existence,  and 
therefore  the  voluntary  remarks,  of  anybody 
else  in  the  universe,  though  just  now  he  had 
the  excuse  of  a  delicate  use  of  his  razor. 
When  he  sought  his  shaving-paper,  however, 
he  turned  and  looked  at  his  wife  in  some 
displeasure,  reminiscent  of  that  previous 
conversation. 

"  This  is  quite  unnecessary,  my  love,"  he 
said.  "  I  told  you  I  intended  to  revive  an 
old  family  name  sunk  in  desuetude." 

"  But,  my  dear,"  persisted  Mrs.  Claxton, 
"it  would  be  so  nice  to  continue  the  one 
name  for  four  generations ;  it  is  a  sort  of 
immortality  in  itself — as  if  Henry  Claxton 
never  died." 

"Never  died!"  cried  Mr.  Claxton,  net 
tled,  since  this  very  thing  had  been  a  temp 
tation  to  him  before  resolving  to  rekindle 
the  ancient  family  grandeur  with  one  of  the 
legendary  names  —  "  Never  died  !  What 
blasphemy  is  this  !"  And  he  made  himself 
livid  with  fresh  lather. 


124  MRS-  CLAXTON  S   SKELETON 

"  Blasphemy  ?  How  you  talk  !  Why, 
you  know  what  I  mean,  dear." 

"  Pray  how  should  I  know  what  you 
mean  ?  I  know  what  you  say.  And  it 
shocks  me." 

"  Well,  never  mind ;  it's  of  no  conse 
quence." 

"  Of  no  consequence  that  you  shock  me  ?" 
began  the  young  prince. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  indeed  !"  said  the  trem 
bling  subject,  shocked  herself  at  offending 
him.  "I  mean  it  is  of  no  consequence 
what  I  say.  I  talk  so  heedlessly,  you 
know." 

"  Indeed,  I  have  reason  to  know  it,"  was 
the  severe  ejaculatory. 

"  And  I  am  really  sorry  about  it.  I  try  to 
think  twice  before  I  speak,  but— 

"  I  wish  you  found  more  success  in  the 
trial.  A  year  ago  it  would  have  been  less 
matter,  but  now  Mrs.  Claxton  should  never 
forget  the  dignity  of  her  station,  and  that 
inconsiderate  babbling  detracts — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  I  do  anything  like 
that !" 

"  When  you   say  that   it  is  of  no  con- 


125 

sequence  whether  you  shock  me  or  not, 
you  do." 

"  But  I  didn't  say  anything  of  the  sort." 

"  Don't  contradict  me  again,  if  you 
please." 

"  Don't  you  allow  people  to  defend  them 
selves  ?"  said  Mrs.  Claxton,  opening  her 
brown  eyes  in  a  spirited  way. 

"  I  don't  allow  people  to  insult  me." 

"  Insult  you  !  What  nonsense  !"  cried 
the  wife  at  last.  "  But  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there.  We  were  speaking  of  the  ba 
by's  name.  I  am  sure  I  had  no  intention, 
no  idea,  of  offending  you  by  suggesting  a 
choice  in  the  matter.  It  would  give  me 
such  pleasure  to  remember  my  father  in 
the  name,  and'  unite  yours  with  it  —  Henry 
Claxton,  Fourth,"  said  Mrs.  Claxton,  mus 
ingly,  her  thimble  on  her  lip. 

"  We  have  had  enough  of  that,"  said  Mr. 
Claxton,  firmly,  and  quite  vexed  with  her 
persistency.  "  The  child's  name  is  Reg 
inald." 

Mrs.  Claxton  stood  up  a  moment  in  one 
of  her  sudden  little  angers  that  she  was 
always  under  the  necessity  of  humiliating 


126 

herself  about  afterwards,  and  looked  at  the 
man  as  he  engaged  himself  just  then  with 
his  chin  in  a  manner  that  made  silence  im 
perative,  and  she  took  advantage  of  the 
opportunity. 

"  I  never  heard  of  anything  so  outra 
geous  in  my  life !"  she  exclaimed,  passion 
ately.  "  Anybody  would  suppose  your  wife 
was  a  mere  bondwoman,  the  mother  of 
your  child  a  nonentity,  that  it  was  not  as 
much  mine  as  yours,  more  mine  than  yours ! 
It  is  an  odious  piece  of  tyranny !" 

Mr.  Claxton  gathered  his  mug  and  ma 
terials  with  one  sweep  of  his  hand,  and 
faced  her.  "  When  you  apologize  to  me 
for  your  utterly  inexcusable  language,"  said 
he,  "  I  shall  re-enter  this  room,  but  not  be 
fore."  And  he  intrenched  himself  in  a  spare 
chamber. 

And  after  a  couple  of  days  of  blank  si 
lence  and  loneliness  and  misery,  of  course 
Mrs.  Claxton  gave  in,  and  apologized  with 
tears  for  her  utterly  inexcusable  language. 
But  the  peculiarity  of  the  dialogue  was 
that  at  the  time  of  its  occurrence  the 
child  to  whom  reference  was  made  was 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON  127 

not  born,  and  when  it  was  born  it  was  a 
girl! 

But  Mr.  Claxton  was  made  of  flesh  like 
the  rest  of  us,  and  when  he  was  called  into 
his  wife's  darkened  room,  and  the  little 
bundle  of  flannel  was  put  into  his  arms 
and  declared  to  be  his  daughter,  he  kissed 
it  fondly,  and  laid  it  on  the  pillow  beside 
his  wife ,  and  as  he  saw  her  so  pale  and 
faint,  so  starry-eyed  and  beautiful,  looking 
as  if  she  might  vanish  out  of  his  sight  at 
any  moment,  he  bent  and  hid  his  face  be 
side  her  own. 

"  My  dear  love,"  said  he,  in  magnanimous 
concession,  some  little  while  afterward,  "we 
will  call  this  baby  Henrietta." 

Now  of  all  the  names  in  or  out  of  the 
calendar  the  one  that  Mrs.  Claxton  the  most 
detested  was  Henrietta.  Mrs.  Claxton, 
however,  accepted  the  concession  in  the 
spirit  in  which  it  was  made,  offering,  in 
deed,  on  her  part,  an  exchange  of  Henrietta 
for  Regina,  which  offer  was  not  listened  to 
for  a  moment;  and  during  her  convales 
cence  her  husband  so  invested  her  with 
kindness  that  she  looked  forward  to  a  hap- 


128  MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

piness  of  which  she  haL  begun  to  despair  in 
the  midst  of  that  wilderness  of  rebellion 
and  altercation  where  she  had  almost  lost 
herself. 

But  it  was  an  easy  thing  for  Mr  Claxton 
to  be  kind  to  a  sick  person  ;  since  it  is  the 
part  of  an  invalid  to  have  no  will,  to  receive 
favors,  and  obey  orders.  And  if  Mrs.  Clax 
ton  had  been  an  invalid  all  her  life,  para 
doxical  as  it  sounds,  she  would  have  had 
no  skeleton.  But,  on  the  contrary,  she  was  a 
healthy  young  thing,  and  in  a  few  weeks  was 
as  rosy  and  vigorous  as.  ever,  as  spirited, 
and  perhaps  as  wilful.  The  presence  of  her 
baby,  though,  turned  her  thoughts,  more 
from  herself,  and  she  anticipated  in  her  ab 
sorption  less  opportunity  for  strife  than 
before.  Accordingly  she  was  very  much 
discomposed  when  one  day  her  husband 
being  present,  accidentally  and  for  the  first 
time,  at  Miss  Baby's  toilet  —  which  the 
mother  found  as  much  pleasure  in  attend 
ing  to  herself  as  she  used  to  find  in  playing 
dolls  —  he  insisted  that  everything  should 
be  done  precisely  the  other  way  :  that  the 
water  should  be  cold  and  not  tepid,  that  the 


MRS.  CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  129 

soap  should  be  castile  and  not  scented, 
that  the  towel  should  be  a  crash  and  not  a 
damask  one. 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing !"  cried 
the  young  mother 

"  There  are  probably  many  things  of  which 
you  have  not  heard,  my  love,"  replied  the 
young  father. 

"  But  a  rough  towel  on  this  little  soft 
flesh  !" 

"It  will  make  it  the  firmer  and  healthier." 

"It  will  take  the  skin  off.  And  castile 
soap — why,  the  doctor  says  it  should  never 
be  used  except  for  healing ,  it  is  too  drying 
for  a  healthy  skin." 

"  My  mother  used  it  invariably." 

"  Now  don't  begin  to  quote  your  mother 
— the  way  men  always  do ;  don't  imagine 
your  mother  knew  more  than  the  doc 
tor." 

"  I  imagine,"  said  Mr.  Claxton,  feeling  it 
worth  while  to  control  his  vexation  for  the 
child's  sake,  "  that  her  experience  was  as 
good  as  his  books." 

"Well,  your  mother  did  as  she  chose,  and 
this  child's  mother  will  do  as  she  chooses. 


i3o          MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON 

Crash  towels,  castile  soap,  and  cold  water ! 
Cold  water,  indeed  !" 

"Certainly.  And  don't  repeat  my  words 
in  that  offensive  manner,  if  you  please.  Any 
moderate  intellect  would  understand  that  if 
the  child  is  to  be  strong,  it  is  to  be  early 
inured — " 

"  I  never  shall  use  it — never  !" 

"  Indeed,  my  darling,  you  are  mistaken. 
You  always  will  use  it  in  the  future." 

"Well,  we  will  see,"  said  Mrs.  Claxton, 
laughing  and  shaking  her  head.  "  Cold 
water  on  such  a  mite  of  a  baby  !  That  is 
all  men  know." 

"  Decidedly  we  shall  see.  For  I  shall 
make  it  a  point  to  be  present  until  it  has 
become  an  established  custom." 

"Then  I  shall  take  my  baby  and  run 
away.  The  law  gives  every  woman  her 
child — at  least,  till  she  has  weaned  it." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  have  recourse  to 
the  law  for  possession  of  my  own  child." 

"Take  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Claxton,  in  a  pas 
sion  ;  and  she  dumped  the  little  naked  mor 
sel  into  its  father's  arms,  and  was  running 
from  the  room. 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON  131 

"  You  are  a  wicked  and  unnatural  wom 
an  !"  cried  Mr.  Claxton  in  his  absolute  be 
wilderment,  not  considering  such  remark  at 
all  in  the  light  of  inexcusable  language  when 
used  by  himself,  and  completely  at  a  loss 
what  to  do  with  the  thing  that  he  found  him 
self  as  free  to  handle  as  if  it  had  been  a 
jelly-fish.  And  in  another  moment  she  was 
running  back,  snatching  her  baby,  hugging 
it  to  her  throat,  and  crying  over  it. 

"  You  are  making  yourself  sick  with  your 
temper,  and  will  hurt  the  child  accordingly," 
said  Mr.  Claxton,  calmly  now.  For  a  person 
can  very  well  be  calm  after  having  wrought 
the  opposite  party  to  a  fever. 

"  It  is  your  temper,"  she  retorted.  "  As 
if  a  mother  didn't  know  how  to  dress  her 
own  baby  without  a  man  around !" 

"  I  shall  not  be  moved  by  anything  you 
say  in  such  a  mood,"  said  the  husband. 
"  But  as  the  child  is  mine,  I  claim  the  right  to 
see  it  properly  attended  to.  And  to  resume : 
I  want,  in  the  first  place,  all  the  pins  abolish 
ed  that  I  observe  you  using  in  its  flannels." 

"Pins!  Why, everybody  uses  them.  They 
are  everyone  shield-pins,  and  couldn't  prick 


132  MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

her  if  they  tried.  Why,  Queen  Victoria  her 
self  invented  them." 

"  I  don't  care  who  invented  them,"  said 
Mr.  Claxton,  possibly  regarding  royalty  rath 
er  in  the  light  of  rivalry.  "  I  want  them 
abolished.  Strings  are  equally  as  good." 

"Oh  no,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Claxton, 
quite  forgetting  her  temper ;  "  they  make 
knots,  and  the  knots  are  so  hard  for  the 
little  soft  body  to  lie  on." 

"  Then  sew  the  things  on  when  you  dress 
her.  The  needle  is  likely  to  prick  only  in 
the  sewing,  the  pins  all  day  and  all  night." 

"  It  is  sheer  nonsense,  Henry.  I  assure 
you  the  pins  couldn't  prick  if  they  were 
alive.  Do  you  suppose  I  want  to  hurt  my 
own  baby  ?" 

"That  is  nothing  to  the  purpose." 

"  Well,  I  will  compromise  with  you,"  she 
said,  laughing  now  as  easily  as  she  had 
cried  before.  "  I  declare,  if  you're  not  per 
fectly  ridiculous  !  Come,  I  will  sew  on  her 
flannels  and  things  every  day,  trouble  as  it 
is,  if  you  will  forego  the  cold  water." 

"  I  shall  make  no  compromise  as  to  my 
rights.  I  insist  on  the  cold  water,  on  the 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON          133 

castile  soap,  the  rough  towels,  and  that  no 
pins  shall  be  used." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  hinder  it !"  said 
Mrs.  Claxton,  stoutly. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Claxton,  and  he 
took  up  the  pin-cushion  to  show  her;  and 
as  at  the  same  instant  his  wife  darted  for 
it,  he  began  to  strip  it  of  its  pins  in  a  haste 
very  disagreeable  to  a  man  of  his  deliber 
ate  dignity.  But  unable  to  retain  the  ac 
cumulating  pins  in  his  unhandy  hands,  he 
suddenly  turned  away  from  her  and  slipped 
a  few  of  them  into  his  mouth— for  great  men 
can  be  driven  to  desperate  expedients;  and 
just  as  suddenly  swallowing  his  breath,  per 
haps  in  amazement,  he  found  himself  obliged 
to  cough  or  to  strangle,  when  Nature  took  the 
matter  into  her  own  charge,  and  the  pins  flew 
in  every  direction,  so  wildly  and  so  instanta 
neously  that  one  of  them,  he  was  morally  sure, 
had  lodged  in  his  throat.  "  Help  !  help !" 
he  gurgled;  "I  have  swallowed  a  pin." 

Mrs.  Claxton  tossed  the  baby  into  the 
cradle  and  ran  to  slap  his  back,  in  a  terri 
ble  alarm ;  and  Jane,  answering  her  screams, 
burst  into  the  room  with  a  dish  of  crusts 


134  MRS-  CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

and  a  pitcher  of  water.  And  only  after  the 
coughing-fit  was  over,  and  he  had  examined 
his  throat  with  a  hand-glass  and  a  powerful 
light,  did  he  convince  himself  that  there 
was  no  pin  there,  and  become  as  grand  and 
majestic  once  more  as  he  could  be  with 
shoulders  that  were  nearly  black  and  blue 
from  the  pounding  that  Jane  had  perhaps 
been  only  too  glad  to  administer  in  the  ef 
fort  of  dislodging  the  suspected  pin. 

But  Mr.  Claxton  was  very  sore.  His 
wife  had  contradicted  him,  had  resisted 
him,  had  threatened  him  with  the  law,  had 
threatened  him  with  desertion,  had  thrown 
the  baby  in  his  face,  had  all  but  said, 
"  Bother  your  mother  !"  had  hazarded  his 
life  with  that  pin,  and,  worse  than  all,  had 
made  him  ridiculous  to  himself,  to  her,  and 
to  a  servant — he,  the  great  Mr.  Claxton  !  A 
fish-bone  would  have  been  bad  enough,  but  a 
pin  !  He  felt  as  if  there  were  nothing  nobler 
in  the  world  than  he,  when,  seeing  that  he 
could  not  spend  another  moment  from  the 
business  that  had  been  waiting,  he  started  to 
go,  and  turned  at  the  door  to  say :  "  Your 
conduct  has  been,  this  morning,  of  the  most 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  135 

reprehensible  description.  But  you  are  the 
mother  of  my  child,  and  I  will  not  leave 
you  in  anger,  and  as  such  I  forgive  you." 

"  I  don't  want  any  of  your  forgiveness," 
said  the  sinner.  "  I  shall  do  just  as  I 
please  with  my  own  baby,  for  all  the  men 
in  the  world.  So  !"  And  then  she  ran 
and  sprang  upon  the  seat  of  a  chair,  and 
threw  an  arm  round  his  neck,  and  turned 
his  chin  up  and  his  great  sulky  face,  and 
laughed  at  him,  and  kissed  him.  "  Oh,  I'm 
a  little  wretch  !"  she  cried.  "  But,  indeed, 
you  mustn't  ask  me  to  use  the  cold  water. 
It  would  break  my  heart  to  do  it."  And 
somehow  Mr.  Claxton  felt  his  august  de 
meanor  of  no  sort  of  consequence  beside 
this  little  hysterical  creature  hanging  about 
his  neck,  and — well,  he  kissed  her. 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  in  the  beginning, 
then  ?"  he  said.  "  I  will  overlook  the  cold 
water ;  but  I  insist  about  the  pins  !"  And  he 
returned  to  his  own  dressing-room,  which  he 
had  left  for  the  sake  of  a  little  pleasant  con 
versation. 

Poor  Mrs.  Claxton  !  If  she  thought  she 
had  reached  the  end  of  her  troubles  in  her 


136  MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

happy  convalescence,  she  was  sadly  mis 
taken.  Previously  she  and  her  husband  had 
really  nothing  material  to  dispute  about. 
Now  they  had  the  baby  ;  and  it  was  an  un 
failing  source.  If  the  baby  had  the  colic, 
and  she  wanted  to  use  anise-seed,  Mr.  Clax- 
ton's  mother  had  used  gin  ;  and  as  anise 
was  innocent  and  gin  deleterious,  of  course 
the  struggle  was  to  the  knife.  If  it  had 
the  croup,  and  she  wanted  homoeopathic 
treatment,  it  was  altogether  certain  that 
Mr.  Claxton's  mother  had  used  the  allo 
pathic,  and  of  course  in  their  mutual  opin 
ion  the  difference  involved  life  and  death. 
If  it  were  ill  through  teething,  and  she 
wanted  to  administer  a  remedy,  Mr.  Clax- 
ton  would  have  the  child  go  into  fits, 
though  his  own  heart  ached,  rather  than 
have  anything  done  before  the  doctor  came. 
If  she  wished  to  rock  it,  Mr.  Claxton  was 
strenuously  opposed,  and  she  might  declare 
till  she  was  tired  that  the  process  had  not 
injured  Daniel  Webster  or  Martha  Washing 
ton  ;  he  would  declare  in  return  that  at  any 
rate  his  child  should  not  have  its  brains  ad 
dled  on  a  pair  of  rockers,  although  I  do 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON  137 

not  think  he  said  "addled" — he  said  "un 
dergo  tabefaction."  In  fact  there  was  no 
aspect  of  the  child's  existence,  from  its 
being  sung  to  sleep  to  its  being  kissed  by 
strangers,  that  they  did  not  differ  about. 
And  when  the  twins  came,  the  differing 
was  not  merely  doubled,  but  tripled.  After 
that,  too,  Mr.  Claxton  in  some  way  be 
came  haunted  by  the  fear  that  his  wife's 
beauty  would  be  impaired  by  care  and  ill 
ness.  He  fancied  he  might  have  been  neg 
lectful  of  her  in  his  concern  for  his  chil 
dren,  and  experienced  a  sensation  as  near 
remorse  as  became  a  Claxton,  and  then 
a  new  cause  of  dispute  arose  :  he  under 
took  to  separate  her  from  her  children, 
he  insisted  that  their  perpetual  presence 
occasioned  a  feverish  nervous  solicitude, 
and  he  contrived  one  or  another  method 
of  isolating  her  from  them  in  the  daytime ; 
and,  let  them  cry  their  little  hearts  away 
at  night,  he  would  not  allow  her  to  go  to 
them  ;  they  had  a  nurse  apiece,  the  very 
best  to  be  had  ;  Jane  and  he  himself  were 
to  be  called  if  the  matter  were  serious, 
and  that  must  answer  ;  for  his  wife,  he  as- 


138 

sured  her,  was  worth  more  to  him  than  all 
the  children  in  Christendom,  and  if  she 
wouldn't  take  care  of  herself  he  must  take 
care  of  her — which,  of  course,  made  Mrs. 
Claxton  as  happy  as  he  thought  it  should, 
and  kept  her  from  wearing  herself  to  a  white 
shadow  ! 

Mrs.  Claxton  had  by  this  time  divined 
that  one  way  to  have  your  will  was  to  sub 
mit  in  pale  patience.  Sometimes  she  was 
able  to  practise  it,  and  sometimes,  as  Paul 
says,  she  kicked  against  the  pricks ;  gener 
ally,  indeed,  she  kicked,  and  in  this  affair 
she  kicked  to  such  purpose  that  after  one 
of  the  twins  had  had  a  night  of  convul 
sions  in  her  absence,  Mr.  Claxton  found 
that  a  strait -jacket  would  conquer  the 
mother's  instinct  sooner  than  he  would,  and 
the  household  was  allowed  to  resume  its 
normal  condition. 

Its  normal  condition  was  a  wrangle. 
Should  baby-talk  be  addressed  to  the  ba 
bies,  or  sound  English  ?  Should  the  milk 
be  boiled  in  the  coffee  or  not,  when  cream 
was  not  to  be  had,  and  should  the  coffee 
be  settled  with  an  egg  or  with  fish  skin  ? 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON  139 

Should  the  crusts  be  given  to  the  poor,  or 
should  money  be  given  to  the  poor  and 
the  crusts  saved  for  a  bread  -  pudding  ? 
Each  day  brought  its  fresh  point  of  de 
bate.  If  Mrs.  Claxton  had  expressed  the 
first  opinion,  Mr.  Claxton's  natural  ten 
dency  was  to  differ,  both  because  she  had 
no  right  to  the  first  opinion,  and  be 
cause  he  wished  her  to  understand  that 
her  judgment  was  unsound ;  but  having 
expressed  that  opinion,  Mrs.  Claxton  was 
bound  to  maintain  it  till  the  sky  fell ;  and 
there  it  was.  If  she  wanted  the  horses, 
she  must  mention  it  at  breakfast,  and 
go  over  the  matter  with  statement  and 
question  and  answer  till  she  wished  she 
had  gone  afoot  without  speaking  of  the 
thing ;  but  if  she  did  go  afoot,  then  woe 
betide  her !  —  she  had  thrown  a  shadow 
on  the  Claxton  name  which  it  took  a 
day  and  night  of  Claxton  severity  to 
brighten. 

And  what  else  could  be  expected  of 
a  man  in  a  place,  as  Mrs.  Claxton  some 
times  thought,  where  a  thousand  men 
hung  on  his  will  for  a  livelihood,  where 


140  MRS.  CLAXTONS    SKELETON 

the  doctor  kowtowed  to  him,  and  where 
the  minister  would  have  lain  down  and  let 
him  walk  over  him  ? 

If  on  one  day  Mrs.  Claxton  wanted  to 
send  the  children  to  walk  in  the  millstream 
woods,  then  Mr.  Claxton  was  sure  they 
would  be  kidnapped.  And  if  on  another 
day  Mr.  Claxton  suggested  their  picnicking 
with  the  nurses  up  on  the  lovely  reservoir 
grounds,  then  Mrs.  Claxton  was  sure  they 
would  be  drowned. 

"  Drowned  !"  cried  the  husband,  indig 
nantly —  for  the  reservoir  was  his  especial 
plaything,  having  been  constructed  under 
his  supervision  to  turn  the  mill-wheels  by 
damming  into  one  basin  the  course  of  two 
small  streams,  and  insult  to  that  was  felt 
like  insult  to  himself.  "  Drowned  !  Pray 
what  should  drown  them  ?" 

"Water,"  was  the  short  reply.  "I've 
heard  that  it  could." 

"  I  really  don't  know  how  it  could  in  this 
instance,"  replied  Mr.  Claxton,  with  great 
disdain. 

"  By  bursting  that  absurd  dam  !"  cried 
the  mother,  out  of  patience.  "  It  will  burst 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  141 

some  day,  and  it  may  as  easily  be  to-day  as 
another,  and  sweep  them  away  in  a  breath. 
I'm  sure  I  wake  with  every  tap  of  the  vine 
on  the  pane  all  night,  sure  that  now  it's 
going  !" 

"  Let  me  hear  no  more  talk  of  the  sort," 
said  Mr.  Claxton.  "  It  is  enough  to  de 
moralize  the  whole  valley.  If  such  things 
were  known  to  be  uttered  by  my  wife  I  could 
not  keep  a  hand.  There  is  no  more  likeli 
hood  of  that  clam's  bursting  than  of  the 
mill's  falling.  On  the  whole,  though,  I  don't 
know  that  it  is  a  good  place  for  the  chil 
dren  to  visit.  They  might,  as  you  say,  be 
drowned,  and  without  waiting  for  the  dam 
to  burst." 

"  What  under  the  sun  can  drown  them, 
I  should  like  to  know,  if  the  dam  does  not 
burst?" 

"  Water,"  replied  Mr.  Claxton,  in  his 
turn. 

"  Water  !  As  if  they  could  tumble  in  with 
all  that  slope  of  the  green  banks  a  mile 
above  them,  and  the  nurses  with  them  too  ! 
I  should  as  soon  think  of  fire." 

"  I  presume  that  would  be  quite  possible 


142          MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON 

to  an  inconsequential  mind,"  said  the  lofty 
party  of  the  first  part. 

"  I  never  pretended  to  any  sort  of  a 
mind.  If  I  had  —  But  I  know  how  to 
take  care  of  my  children,"  she  cried,  sud 
denly.  "And  certainly  neither  of  the  twins 
could  climb  if  the  carriage  left  them  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  itself,  and  Retta  always 
obeys." 

"  Henrietta,  my  dear.  Understand  that 
I  will  not  have  any  abbreviations  used 
in  my  family.  The  names  given  in  bap 
tism  are  their  only  names,  and  are  those 
by  which  my  children  must  and  shall  be 
known." 

"  Well,  you  can  call  her  what  you  please, 
and  I'll  call  her  what  I  please." 

"You  seem  entirely  to  forget,  Caroline, 
that  I  am  the  head  of  this  house." 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  can  forget  it.  You 
reiterate  it  often  enough." 

"  I  reiterate  it !"  he  cried,  in  a  blaze;  for 
his  magnanimity  was  one  of  his  darling 
virtues,  and  though  he  might  taunt  till  he 
was  tired  concerning  the  benefits  he  con 
ferred,  he  not  only  wished  it  held  that  he 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON          i43 

never  taunted,  but  believed  himself  that  he 
never  did,  probably  because  his  unused  ca 
pabilities  of  taunting  were  so  much  greater 
than  those  he  used. 

"Yes,  you  do,"  she  responded.  "And  I 
don't  care  anything  about  the  house.  The 
family,  at  all  events,  is  as  much  my  family 
as  yours,  and  if  I  choose  I  shall  use  pet 
names  there  to  the  end  of  time.  So  !" 

"  Is  it  possible  that  I  comprehend  you — 
that  under  my  own  roof  you  defy  me  in  this 
manner,  and  dare  to  say  you  will  do  this  or 
you  won't  do  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is !"  cried  Mrs.  Claxton,  with  a 
burning  face  and  a  trembling  voice.  "  I 
wonder  if  I  sha'n't  have  to  ask  you  next  if 
I  may  breathe  through  my  nose  or  my  lips. 
Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  you  married  the  wrong 
person  when  you  thought  you  would  have 
an  abject  slave  in  your  wife.  I  had  rather 
have  stayed  a  governess  all  my  days  than 
endure  the  life  you  lead  me  !  And  I  rue  the 
hour  I  ever  set  my  eyes  on  you  !"  she  cried, 
in  her  passion.  And  then,  to  give  confir 
mation  to  her  words,  her  lips  began  to 
quiver  and  her  breath  began  to  catch,  and 


144  MRS-   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

she  sank  in  a  little  heap  in  the  arm 
chair,  sobbing  fit  to  dissolve  herself  in 
tears. 

As  for  Mr.  Claxton,  he  dared  not  trust 
himself  to  reply.  He  felt  as  if  he  must 
shake  her,  and  if  he  shook  her  he  was  very 
much  afraid  he  should  do  something  worse, 
and  so  the  noblesse  oblige  of  the  Claxton  dig 
nity  took  him  from  the  room  speechless, 
but  glaring. 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Clax 
ton,  growing  more  hysterical  with  every  sob. 
"Or  else  I  wish —  But  she  did  not  finish 
the  sentence. 

By  this  time  you  have  doubtless  become 
quite  well  aware  of  the  nature  of  Mrs.  Clax- 
ton's  skeleton,  and  see  how  it  was  that  it 
walked  abroad  when  she  did,  and  always 
ran  before  and  opened  the  door  for  her 
when  she  came  home;  and  she  was  slowly 
growing  to  see  its  likeness  in  her  face  every 
time  she  looked  in  the  glass — that  pretty, 
gracious  face,  where  the  lines  had  yet  hardly 
deepened  into  settled  frowns.  She  felt  her 
self  stripped  of  identity  and  all  personal 
importance — made  a  mere  puppet ;  she  was 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  145 

not  sure  of  peace  from  one  moment  to  the 
next ;  she  had  no  fixed  happiness  in  life 
but  the  love  of  her  children ;  and  she  was 
convinced  that  the  moment  they  were  old 
enough  to  exercise  intelligence,  the  habit  of 
contempt  would  be  caught,  and  they  too 
would  set  her  at  naught.  Every  day  of  her 
life  she  wished  herself  free,  and  she  began 
to  recognize  the  phantom  of  a  perception 
that  the  only  escape  from  her  skeleton  was 
through  the  door  of  death — death  for  one 
or  the  other  of  them ;  sometimes  she  could 
not  have  been  sure  that  she  was  altogether 
unready  to  say  which  one,  and  that  it  would 
not  be  herself.  She  thought  that  she  was  the 
victim  of  a  wicked  injustice  on  the  part  of 
fate,  for  she  realized  what  it  might  be  to 
have  the  love  of  a  husband  who  regarded 
her  as  an  individual,  as  a  mate,  who,  far 
from  tyrannizing  over  her  as  an  odalisque 
and  a  piece  of  acquired  property  a  little 
more  valuable  than  Towser  or  Dash,  wooed 
her  still  with  kind  observances  and  unfailing 
respect.  She  loved  her  husband,  but  her 
temper  and  his  vainglory  were  always  cross 
ing  swords  in  the  way  of  the  love  ;  she 


140  MRS.  CLAXTONS    SKELETON 

loved  him,  and  she  hated  him  ;  she  was  har 
assed  by  opposing  forces  and  feelings  night 
and  day.  For  all  her  sweet  smiles  and  her 
tranquil  manners  out-doors,  she  was  an  ex 
ceedingly  wretched  woman  within  the  house. 

As  for  Mr.  Claxton —  But  words  fail  to 
convey  the  emotion  of  that  good  man  when 
convinced  of  the  rebellion  in  his  household 
— the  cockatrice  upon  his  hearth  ! 

Mr.  Claxton  was  indeed  at  a  loss  in  his 
own  thoughts.  He  was  so  much  aghast  at 
his  wife's  outbreak  that  he  did  not  know 
how  to  formulate  the  statement  of  affairs  to 
himself.  He  felt  unable  to  reach  a  solution 
of  the  problem  as  to  what  could  have  caused 
such  a  mood  of  mind  in  her,  and  his  powers 
were  inadequate  to  devise  a  fit  punishment 
till  he  should  have  looked  the  affair  over 
more  coolly.  He  stayed  in  his  counting- 
room  that  afternoon  a  good  while  beyond 
business  hours,  partly  to  reflect  on  these 
matters,  and  partly  because  a  thunder 
cloud  had  burst  over  the  valley  and  among 
the  hills,  and  he  knew  that  his  wife  was 
apt  to  be  utterly  prostrated  by  fear  of 
thunder,  and  thought  it  best  to  give  her 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  147 

a  more  realizing  sense  of  her  dependence 
on  him  through  his  absence  at  such  a 
crisis. 

However,  he  would  not  have  been  able 
to  say  what  contradictory  impulse  it  was 
that  made  him  at  last,  while  the  heavens 
were  still  pouring  a  thick,  suffocating  sheet 
of  rain,  throw  over  his  shoulders  an  old 
pilot-cloth  coat  hanging  in  the  place,  and 
sally  forth  for  home.  Certainly  he  had  rea 
son  to  regret  it  directly  afterwards,  for  in 
three  minutes  the  rain  had  penetrated  his 
umbrella  and  it  was  only  a  sodden  rag,  and 
he  shut  it  to  find  that  in  three  minutes  more 
he  should  be  wet  to  the  skin,  if  not  to  the 
bone.  Then  the  question  was,  should  he 
return  ?  No,  "  returning  were  as  tedious 
as  go  o'er."  To  retrace  one's  steps  was  to 
acknowledge  one's  error.  Then  should  he 
run  ?  Run  ?  Mr.  Claxton  run  ?  Well, 
let  him  run  never  so  swiftly,  the  rain  was 
swifter  yet ;  he  would  be  just  as  surely 
wet,  since  it  was  some  distance.  If  he 
could  not  retain  his  comfort,  he  might  re 
tain  his  dignity,  he  might  solace  himself 
with  the  reflection  that  either  Plato  or  Per- 


148          MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON 

icles  or  Aristotle  presented  a  much  more 
preposterous  appearance  with  the  tail  of  his 
gown  turned  up  over  his  head  in  a  shower. 
And  accordingly  he  stalked  along  in  great 
strides,  his  hat  ruined,  his  clothes  too  heavy 
to  carry,  the  rain  running  a  cold  river  down 
his  back  and  into  his  boots,  blinding  his 
eyes,  and  streaming  off  a  hundred  little  points 
of  his  hair,  and  most  humiliatingly  off  the 
end  of  his  nose  and  chin,  feeling  ignomini- 
ously  like  Lot's  wife  in  a  rain-storm,  and 
hearing  an  ignorant  little  boy  in  the  distance 
hoot  at  him.  Certainly  he  was  not  at  all  a 
worshipful  object;  no  clod-hopper  ever  pre 
sented  a  more  abject  appearance.  Of  what 
value  to  him  at  that  moment  was  his  money  ? 
Of  what  value  were  his  horses  and  carriages  ? 
He  was  as  wet  as  the  nakedest  man  that 
ever  swam.  And  as  he  had  really,  after  all 
his  anger  with  her,  been  hastening  home  on 
Mrs.  Claxton's  account,  he  transferred  to 
that  account  all  the  chagrin  arising  from  the 
situation,  the  more  readily  that  it  was  of  no 
use  to  be  angry  with  the  elements,  and  he 
was  very  angry  with  something,  with  the  in 
dignity  practised  upon  him  by  the  weather, 


149 

with  his  wetness,  his  general  discomfort,  and 
with  the  little  boy. 

And  of  course,  when  at  length  he  reached 
the  house,  the  rain  still  raining  a  deluge, 
and  the  lightning  falling  round  him  every 
step  of  the  way,  he  expected  doors  to  be 
thrown  open  before  him,  and  a  tumultuary 
welcome  to  make  itself  heard,  in  which  all 
the  disagreements  of  many  days  would  be 
forgotten.  He  expected  the  house-servants 
to  run  this  way  and  the  nurses  that,  and 
the  children  to  shout  and  prance  about  him, 
and  his  wife  to  fall  on  his  neck,  and  hot  flan 
nels  and  toddy  and  dry  clothes  to  appear 
by  magic.  Instead  of  all  which  not  a  soul 
was  to  be  seen,  not  even  the  dogs  ;  the  ser 
vants  had  the  children  in  some  remote  part 
of  the  house,  where  they  were  telling  of 
dreadful  deaths  by  lightning,  and  awful  ap 
paritions  in  the  heavens  ;  and  he  marched 
along  to  his  room,  solitary  and  unheard,  his 
feet  squelching  his  soft  French  boots  like 
pulp,  conscious  of  every  separate  toe,  and 
the  water  dripping  from  his  clothes  in  pud 
dles  upon  the  bright  carpets  as  he  stepped. 
He  saw  himself  in  this  plight  in  a  long  mir- 


150  MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

ror  of  the  hall,  and  surely  for  one  instant 
the  starch  was  taken  out  of  Mr.  Claxton — 
a  limp  and  helpless  filter  of  rain-water.  Pos 
sibly  if  anybody  other  than  that  thing  in  the 
glass  had  seen  him,  he  would  have  dropped 
on  the  floor  and  resolved  into  a  dew ;  but 
no  one  did,  and  the  moment  he  had  closed 
his  bedroom  door  he  was  all  buckram  again. 
For  there  was  Mrs.  Claxton  in  bed,  with  the 
room  darkened,  utterly  oblivious  of  his  com 
ing  or  staying,  her  head  wrapped  about  with 
the  blankets,  deaf  to  the  bubble  and  squeak 
of  his  boots,  deaf  to  the  thunder  too,  blind 
to  the  image  he  presented,  blind  to  the  light 
ning,  totally  unaware  of  his  return,  and  in 
different  to  his  condition.  This  was  what 
a  man  got  for  exposing  himself  in  thunder- 
gust  !  Mr.  Claxton  did  not  swear  :  the  Clax- 
tons  never  swore ;  possibly  because  if  they 
had  sworn  it  would  have  been  seen  that  they 
could  not  have  things  all  their  own  way,  or 
else  they  would  not  swear  about  it :  but  he 
slipped  himself  out  of  that  entanglement  of 
dripping  garments  and  into  dry  ones  with 
as  much  desperate  haste  as  became  him  ; 
and  without  uttering  a  word  save  a  muttered 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  151 

vow  that  there  should  not  be  a  feather-bed 
left  in  his  house  by  to-morrow,  he  went  down 
to  the  dining-room.  There  dinner,  in  spite 
of  the  delay,  had  not  yet  been  served ;  partly 
because  it  had  waited  for  him  in  the  first 
place,  and  partly  because  the  storm  was  so 
tremendous  that  all  minor  interests  had  been 
forgotten  in  it,  and  partly  because  Mrs.  Clax- 
ton  had  been  lost  to  the  household  in  the 
sheltering  recesses  of  that  feather-bed.  Din 
ner,  however,  after  his  exertions,  was  not  a 
minor  interest  to  Mr.  Claxton,  and  he  forth 
with  proceeded  to  raise —  Those  readers 
whose  faulty  housekeeping  may  have  dis 
covered  to  them  the  possibilities  of  the 
hungry  and  infuriate  animal  can  supply  the 
hiatus. 

So  Mr.  Claxton  ate  his  dinner  in  what 
Thomas  afterwards  called  "  single  cussed- 
ness,"  having  declined  the  proffered  com 
pany  of  Miss  Henrietta — which  he  would 
not  have,  for  the  sake  of  feeling  like  the 
forsaken  merman — and  having  refused  to 
let  Mrs.  Claxton  be  disturbed,  goading  him 
self  with  every  mouthful  into  a  completer 
sense  of  the  outrageous  way  in  which  he 


152          MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON 

was  being  rewarded  for  his  magnanimity 
in  overlooking  the  morning's  occurrences, 
in  getting  wet  through  for  his  wife's  relief, 
in  making  himself  a  ridiculous  spectacle, 
in  enduring  the  hootings  of  that  little  boy 
in  the  distance.  He  read  his  evening  pa 
per,  and  turned  over  the  evening  mail ; 
wrote  a  few  letters,  in  which  I  am  afraid 
he  wreaked  a  poor  sort  of  vengeance  on 
his  correspondents,  for  want  of  other  op 
portunity  to  relieve  his  surcharged  spleen ; 
and  finally  went  to  bed,  to  be  greeted  by 
the  pleasant  sight  of  Mrs.  Claxton  enjoy 
ing  a  peaceful  sleep  after  the  weariness  of 
her  day's  emotions. 

For  Mrs.  Claxton  had  had  her  headache 
that  always  attended  an  electric  storm,  had 
cried  herself  into  a  worse  one  with  her  fear 
of  the  lightning,  and  with  the  fact  that,  for 
the  first  time,  her  husband  had  failed  to 
appear  and  to  sustain  her  through  the 
thunderous  trial,  and  when,  later,  one  of 
the  nurses  happening  into  the  room,  had 
mentioned  Mr.  Claxton's  return,  and  she 
saw  that  he  had  designedly  left  her  to  suf 
fer  alone,  indignation  dried  her  tears ;  and 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON  153 

having  satisfied  herself  that  the  children 
were  safely  upon  their  pillows,  she  made 
her  own  toilet  for  the  night,  and  went  to 
bed  with  her  wrath,  to  fall  asleep  instantly 
with  her  fatigue. 

But  Mr.  Claxton  was  tired  himself  —  a 
man  is  not  hooted  at  by  little  boys  with 
out  some  wear  and  tear  of  the  sensibili 
ties.  He  did  not  attempt  to  wake  his  wife, 
but  followed  her  example,  and  slept  sound 
ly  till  just  before  daybreak,  when,  in  the 
gray  dawn,  he  was  disturbed  by  one  of 
those  little  noises  that  disturb  nobody  but 
a  householder.  It  was  only  a  faint  and 
rather  pleasant  murmur— an  incessant  drip, 
drip,  drip;  but  there  was  no  occasion  for 
such  a  murmur,  since  it  was  not  raining 
then,  and  he  listened  anxiously  to  discover 
the  cause  of  it.  It  was  not  long  before  he 
surmised  that  it  came  from  the  overflow 
of  the  tank  in  the  roof.  That  was  a  mat 
ter  easily  remedied  by  opening  the  pipes, 
though  some  slight  damage  had  already 
been  done,  and  he  rose  to  investigate  the 
matter  with  some  inward  grumbling  about 
there  never  being  anybody  but  himself  to 


154          MRS'  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON 

see  to  such  things.  Having  concluded  his 
investigation,  and  having  done  all  there  was 
to  be  done  at  present,  he  was  so  thorough 
ly  awakened  that  it  did  not  seem  worth 
while  to  go  back  to  bed  again  ;  so  he 
dressed  himself  for  the  day  noiselessly,  and 
went  out  to  the  stables  for  his  horse.  The 
overflow  of  the  tank  had  suggested  to  him 
the  advisability  of  a  visit  to  the  great  reser 
voir  between  the  hills,  and  an  inspection  of 
the  state  in  which  the  thunder-storm  had 
left  it.  It  occurred  to  him,  too,  that  thus 
early  he  might  surprise  the  keeper  off  duty, 
which  idea  had  an  alluring  relish  to  him ; 
and  then  it  would  be  a  pleasant  morning 
ride,  and  he  would  be  back  to  find  break 
fast  ready,  and  his  wife  perhaps  amiable, 
and  the  domestic  storm  as  well  blown  over 
as  the  thunder-storm. 

As  Mr.  Claxton  rode  forth  the  sun  had 
just  sent  a  blush  over  all  the  skies  in  ad 
vance  of  his  coming,  and  the  world  was 
at  that  heavenly  hour  before  the  full  yel 
low  lustre  pours  over  the  edge  when  all  the 
softer  shades  of  color — the  pure  pale  roses 
and  grays  and  purples  —  seem  striving  to 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  155 

convince  you  how  much  lovelier  they  are 
than  the  brilliant  gold  and  azure  of  broad 
day;  the  birds  were  warbling  full-throated 
still,  and  all  the  boughs  were  glittering  with 
dew  and  with  the  last  drops  of  the  night's 
shower,  till  the  whole  earth  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  freshly  made  that  morning.  I 
don't  know  that  Mr.  Claxton  thought  pre 
cisely  that  it  was  a  special  demonstration 
on  the  part  of  Nature  in  honor  of  his  early 
ride,  when  the  colors  grew  more  and  more 
gorgeous  and  the  grand  transformation  scene 
finally  sublimated  itself  into  one  central 
spot  of  ruby  fire,  out  of  which  the  sun  came 
rolling  up  in  majesty ;  but  he  certainly  had 
an  idea  that  the  common  people  turning 
out  to  their  work  did  not  have  such  sunrises 
every  morning,  and  he  rode  forward  brisk 
ly,  with  a  gratified  sense  of  being  in  a  spe 
cies  of  partnership  with  Nature — if  she  got 
up  the  show,  he  got  up  the  appreciation, 
and  if  the  sunrise  was  the  greatest  thing 
in  that  valley,  he,  at  any  rate,  was  the  next 
greatest. 

It  was  a  pretty  path,  in  its  steep  ascent, 
up  which  he  rode,  a  bridle-path  where  the 


156          MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON 

velvet  sward,  with  its  sparkling  cobwebs, 
only  half  disclosed  the  traces  of  old  foot 
prints,  every  here  and  there  turning  out  of 
its  way  to  wind  round  some  huge  mossy 
bowlder.  Overhead  the  young  birches  and 
maples  were  waving  their  boughs,  as  if 
groping  for  the  light  that  fell  on  the  tree- 
tops  far  above,  now  tossing  the  dew  down 
on  him  from  the  brink  of  some  sheer  face 
of  rock,  now  shaking  in  the  sweet  wind  in 
cranny  and  crevice  of  the  cool  wet  wall 
upon  the  other  side,  and  yet  in  shadow. 
At  one  point  the  path  descended  into  a 
little  hollow,  a  green  dimple  of  fern  and 
brake ;  then  it  rose  rapidly,  and  passed 
beneath  a  group  of  gigantic  oaks  that  had 
braved  the  storms  of  centuries,  the  Century 
Oaks  they  were  called,  indeed,  their  roots 
twisting  into  the  ribs  of  the  solid  rock  it 
self;  and  at  length  it  came  out  beside  the 
brook  that  went  leaping  down  the  hill  from 
the  gateway  on  the  east  side  of  the  reservoir, 
fuller  that  morning  than  he  remembered 
to  have  seen  it — now  dark  and  strong,  and 
now,  where  a  sunbeam  touched  it,  a  swift 
sheet  of  foam  and  rainbows.  "  It  takes 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON  157 

such  a  storm  as  yesterday's  to  swell  a  brook 
like  this,"  said  Mr.  Claxton  to  himself,  as 
his  horse's  feet  left  the  velvet  sward  and 
began  to  clatter  o'ver  the  pebbles,  and  the 
great  face  of  the  reservoir,  with  the  green 
sod  of  its  bank,  rose  over  the  wood  like  the 
vast  base  of  some  mighty  unbuilt  tower. 
"  We  must  have  an  immense  backwater 
now,"  he  said ;  "  enough  to  run  the  mills  if 
there  should  be  a  drought  till  the  fall.  I'll 
take  one  good  look  at  the  dam  before  I  go, 
if  it  does  spoil  the  waffles." 

It  was  just  as  Mr.  Claxton  uttered  these 
words,  half  aloud,  that  a  shiver  ran  from 
head  to  hoof  through  the  good  beast  that 
bore  him,  and  which  stood  still  with  planted 
feet  and  head  erect  so  suddenly  as  nearly  to 
dismount  his  rider.  Mr.  Claxton  looked  on 
this  side  and  on  that  for  the  object  of  alarm, 
saw  nothing,  and  sprang  to  the  ground.  The 
shiver  was  in  the  ground  :  a  thrill,  a  slow  and 
terrible  thrill,  was  pulsing  through  the  earth, 
that  seemed  to  shake  like  a  shaking  breast, 
that  was  rising  to  meet  him — to  meet  him 
who  was  trembling  like  a  reed  himself. 

For   what   was   this  ?     The   end    of   the 


158  MRS.   CLAXTON'S    SKELETON 

world  ?  He  gave  one  look  at  the  awful 
glory  up  there  at  the  crest  of  the  hill,  the 
awful  deathly  glory  of  the  bristling,  rush 
ing,  monstrous  thing  smitten  with  the  full 
splendor  of  the  risen  sun,  and  then  threw 
himself  into  the  saddle  again,  wheeled  about, 
and  spurred  his  horse  down  the  valley  like 
a  madman.  But  the  muffled  thunder  of 
his  horse's  hoofs  in  his  ears  was  drowned 
by  a  louder  sound — a  dull  growl,  a  hollow 
roar,  a  whistling  of  all  the  winds  that  blow 
in  heaven ;  and  fast  as  he  fled  a  fierce  foe 
followed  faster. 

In  the  great  Claxton  house  upon  its 
knoll,  with  the  trees  softly  bending  and 
bowing  below  it,  the  morning  light  had 
gently  entered,  and  it  fell  upon  the  portrait 
of  Mr.  Claxton  just  as  Mrs.  Claxton  was 
opening  her  eyes.  It  was  a  handsome  por 
trait  of  him,  with  all  that  bright  and  ruddy 
comeliness  that  made  his  youth  so  impos 
ing  to  her.  It  seemed  to  her  at  that  mo 
ment  that  the  face  was  smiling  on  her  as  it 
used  to  do  at  the  time  when  she  hung  the 
picture  at  the  foot  of  her  bed,  that  it  might 
be  the  first  object  on  which  her  eyes  should 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  159 

open.  In  a  forgetful  recurrence  of  the  old 
emotion  she  did  not  immediately  call  up 
the  events  of  later  days,  and  was  smiling 
back  at  it,  when  all  at  once  memory  re 
sumed  its  play,  and  she  turned  to  behold 
the  other  pillow  vacant. 

It  was  something  like  dismay  that  over 
came  Mrs.  Claxton,  for  seldom  had  Mr. 
Claxton's  displeasure  survived  a  night's 
sleep.  "  He  has  gone  away  in  anger,  then !" 
she  exclaimed.  But  directly  her  own  anger 
ran  to  the  rescue.  "  If  I  had  shown  a 
proper  spirit  in  the  first  place,"  she  said, 
"  he  would  never  have  presumed  to  abuse 
me  so.  I  had  rather  be  a  kitchen  girl  than 
such  a  slave  as  he  makes  me.  The  sport 
of  all  the  kitchen  girls  !  I  had  rather  die 
than  live  so  any  more  !  I  don't  care  what 
happens  if  I  can  only  escape  from  this. 
Nothing  can  be  worse !"  And  with  such 
ejaculations  hovering  round  her  like  Venus's 
doves,  Mrs.  Claxton  bathed  and  dressed, 
and,  fresh  and  fair  as  any  flower,  for  all  her 
troubles,  went  to  find  her  babies. 

But  the  babies  were  lovely  enough  to  dis 
tract  her  thoughts  for  the  time ;  and  it  was 


160  MRS.  CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

only  after  a  frolic  with  them,  in  all  their 
dimpling  rosiness  and  laughter,  that,  some 
what  softened,  she  went  down  with  them 
clinging  about  her,  Henrietta  ushering  the 
procession,  and  the  baby  astride  her  shoul 
der,  to  find  the  breakfast  on  the  table,  and 
Mr.  Claxton  she  knew  not  where.  He  had 
saddled  the  red  horse  himself,  the  man  said, 
to  get  a  plumber,  maybe,  for  the  pipes  had 
been  leaking  from  the  pressure. 

From  the  pressure.  Mrs.  Claxton  glanced 
up  at  the  window,  half  startled,  yet  her  face 
bright  with  a  hovering  triumph  on  the  point 
of  pouncing.  Then  he  had  probably  gone 
up  to  see  after  the  reservoir,  she  thought 
—not  so  sure  of  the  dam  after  all  !  And 
she  went  to  the  window  to  look  up  the 
valley  road.  Yes,  there  was  an  object  dis 
cernible  against  the  bare  face  of  rock,  mov 
ing  far  up  the  hill,  just  beyond  the  Cen 
tury  Oaks;  it  was  going  up — no,  it  was 
standing  still ;  now  it  had  just  turned  about. 
A  horse  and  rider.  Yes,  without  doubt,  that 
was  Mr.  Claxton  :  he  had  been  up  there  to 
see  his  pet  construction,  but  hunger  was  re 
calling  him  to  breakfast :  he  hardly  deserved 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON  161 

that  she  should  keep  it  hot  for  him.  Now 
she  could  see  plainer.  Oh  yes,  that  was  Mr. 
Claxton  and  the  red  horse.  But  why  were 
they  coming  so  fast  ?  Was  there  a  gust  up 
there  ?  It  looked  as  though  a  thick  whirl 
wind  were  behind  him.  Mrs.  Claxton  lifted 
her  eyes  to  the  sky,  looking  for  clouds  ;  as 
she  did  so,  they  rested  one  second  on  the 
top  of  the  hill.  In  that  second — great  God 
in  heaven  !  —  in  that  second  she  saw  the 
whole  east  side  of  the  reservoir  move  out  in 
one  mass,  and  a  flood,  a  stupendous  volume 
of  water,  pour  in  one  prodigious  leap,  this 
instant  transfigured  in  the  sunshine  like  a 
supernal  apparition,  and  the  next  instant 
precipitating  itself,  a  dark  and  horrible  tor 
rent  of  clay  and  water  and  stone  and  tree, 
tumbling  and  boiling  down  the  valley,  strip 
ping  bare  the  rock  behind  it,  driving  the 
earth  before  ! 

One  shrill  cry  from  Mrs.  Claxton's  lips, 
"  It  has  come  at  last !"  one  bewildered  look 
for  somebody  to  lean  on,  and  that  was  all 
the  weakness  she  allowed  herself.  Imme 
diately  she  had  summoned  the  servants, 
and  had  the  outside  hands  all  rushing  into 


162  MRS.  CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

the  kitchen  from  garden  and  stable,  two  of 
them  sent  back  to  bring  the  long  ladder 
into  the  main  hall,  and  the  others  hurrying 
to  bolt  doors  and  drop  windows  and  put  up 
shutters. 

"Up -stairs  now!"  cried  Mrs.  Claxton, 
seizing  her  baby,  just  as  the  alarm-bell  of 
the  mills  began  to  ring.  "  If  the  water 
comes  so  high,  we  can  retreat  to  the  roof. 
No,  no"-— as  the  girls  began  to  cry  and 
show  hysterical  tendencies — "  we  are  safe. 
The  house  must  stand.  It  is  stone.  The 
walls  are  thick  ;  and  the  force  will  be  part 
ly  spent  before  the  flood  reaches  us.  It 
isn't  we  who  will  suffer  ;  it  is  your  master, 
who  is  out  in  the  way  somewhere  ;  it  is  our 
neighbors  whose  houses  stand  in  the  plain. 
Plant  the  ladder  beneath  a  second -story 
window,  Thomas — quick,  I  say ! — that  they 
may  see  the  wisdom  of  running  here.  You 
simpletons  !  Can  water  run  up  the  lad 
der  ?" 

"  She's  the  right  stuff,"  said  Thomas  to 
Jane.  And  she  was  hardly  obeyed  when 
the  neighbors  were  seen  running  for  the 
knoll  and  springing  up  the  terraces,  men 


MRS.  CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  163 

with  their  mothers,  and  women  with  their 
children,  people  saving  themselves  wher 
ever  they  chanced  to  be,  tripping  and  fall 
ing  and  fainting  and  dragged  along,  unable 
to  make  for  the  hills  on  the  valley  sides, 
and  seeking  the  nearest  security  as  it  was 
offered  by  the  great  Claxton  house  upon  its 
terraced  knoll,  thronging  at  last  into  the 
doorway  which  Thomas  stood  ready  to  close, 
and  scattering  through  the  upper  rooms, 
these  in  a  dumb  horror,  with  wringing  hands, 
and  those  with  sobs  and  screams  and  cries 
for  one  another. 

They  were  still  running  for  the  house 
when  some  were  seen  to  fall  as  if  pros 
trated  by  a  furious  wind  behind  them. 
There  was  a  moment  of  intense  stillness  in 
the  house,  as  the  gazing  groups  beheld  it, 
and  into  that  stillness  crept  the  whisper, 
the  muffled  rumble  and  roll,  the  wide  roar 
of  the  open  flood-gates.  Thomas  slammed 
the  door,  and  sprang  up  the  stairway  af 
ter  his  mistress  and  the  rest.  "  Say  your 
prayers,"  said  he,  putting  his  arms  round 
Jane,  who  hid  her  head  in  them,  "  for  here 
it  comes  !"  And  with  the  word  they  saw  a 


wall  of  water  pushing  down  the  valley,  too 
swift  to  break  and  fall — yellow  and  polished 
as  a  jewel  through  all  its  burnished  front, 
its  crest  curling  in  a  terrible  foam  of  ruin, 
where  toppled  uprooted  trees,  struggling, 
drowning  men,  crashed  roof  and  rafter,  and 
capsized  dwelling  —  and  in  another  heart 
beat  the  whole  wide  valley  was  afloat,  and 
the  flood  was  upon  them,  billowing  and  bel 
lowing  and  surging  on  over  the  main  road, 
over  the  hay  field,  across  the  gardens,  up 
the  knoll,  the  waters  piling  themselves  like 
light  from  terrace  to  terrace.  Would  they 
rise  higher  ?  Would  the  house  go,  too  ? 
There  was  not  time  to  ask  it  before  they 
were  foaming  up  the  lawns,  were  rushing 
round  the  door-steps,  were  carrying  away  the 
ladder,  were  pouring  through  the  windows. 
A  shock— it  was  a  long  beam  swirling  in 
the  torrent  and  grazing  the  house.  Anoth 
er  shock — the  ground  vibrating  to  it — and 
they  saw  the  great  mills  swing  and  totter 
and  fall  in  a  cloud  of  wreck,  and  wash 
away.  And  then  one  long  tremor  that 
made  the  hair  stand  on  end  :  the  shoul 
der  of  the  great  water  was  pressing  full 


MRS.  CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  165 

on  them.  One  dizzy,  swimming  moment — 
they  felt  the  strong  stones  and  timbers 
quiver,  felt  them  lift  and  strain  and  rise 
and  settle,  and  then,  with  a  great  cry  of 
joy,  they  saw  that  the  house,  opposing  its 
angle  to  the  tide,  had  divided  its  volume, 
and  the  waters  flowed  on  either  side  and 
left  it  safe. 

It  was  not  a  half-hour  since  Mrs.  Claxton 
had  seen  the  bursting  of  the  reservoir  be 
fore  she  gathered  her  children  into  her  own 
room  and  shut  the  door,  leaving  the  rest 
of  the  house  to  its  sudden  guests  and  the 
watchers  of  the  passing  and  subsiding  flood, 
that  she  might  betake  herself  to  her  knees. 
She  and  her  children  were  safe  ;  but  her 
husband — God  alone  knew  where  he  was ! 
She  did  not  fall  on  her  knees,  though ;  she 
walked  up  and  down  the  room  like  a  wild 
woman,  stopping  at  every  turn  to  embrace 
one  child  or  another,  to  exclaim  in  misery 
with  a  storm  of  tears.  A  half-hour  ago  she 
had  seen  him  turn  about,  dashing  home 
ward  with  that  horror  behind  him — dashing 
homeward  to  save  himself  perhaps,  perhaps 
to  save  her  and  the  children.  Now  the 


166  MRS.   CLAXTON  S   SKELETON 

waters  must  have  gone  over  him.  He  must 
have  fallen  before  them.  And  the  terror 
and  agony  he  had  endured  in  that  dreadful 
moment  when  he  saw  there  was  no  help  for 
him  rose  before  her  like  clouds  of  darkness 
and  enveloped  her.  One  hour  passed,  and 
another  ;  the  nurses  had  come  in  and  taken 
the  frightened  twins;  the  baby  fell  asleep, 
and  little  Henrietta  kept  awe-struck  guard 
over  him.  But  Mrs.  Claxton  saw  nothing 
that  occurred.  She  was  realizing  what  her 
bereavement  would  be ;  she  was  seeing  all 
the  mistakes  of  her  life  suddenly,  as  if 
lightning  had  stamped  the  whole  thing  on 
her;  she  was  suffering  a  torture  of  remorse; 
she  was  thinking  how  her  husband  might 
possibly  have  escaped,  wondering  about 
him,  contriving  for  him ;  she  was  crying  out 
that  she  should  never  see  his  face  again ; 
she  was  falling  upon  the  bed  and  hiding 
her  face  in  his  pillow,  and  wetting  it  with 
scalding  tears.  Yes,  she  had  told  him  she 
rued  the  hour  she  ever  laid  eyes  on  him — 
well,  perhaps  she  would  never  lay  eyes  on 
him  again !  And  then  a  striking  clock 
seemed  to  be  tolling  a  knell.  The  baby 


MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON          167 

awoke  and  cried ;  little  Henrietta  tugged 
and  pulled  it  off  the  bed,  and,  clasping  it 
in  her  chubby  arms,  lugged  it,  in  a  fashion, 
from  the  room  :  her  mother  never  noticed 
her.  She  had  sat  down  to  listen  for  the 
clock  again.  Clang,  clang,  clang,  it  meas 
ured  out  noon :  now  it  was  impossible  that 
he  should  have  escaped  and  not  be  there. 
Yes,  she  was  free — free  from  all  her  trou 
bles;  she  was  no  longer  a  slave;  the  mis 
tress  of  her  own  house  at  last.  But  oh,  to 
what  purpose  !  There  was  no  more  a  skele 
ton  in  that  house,  only  in  its  stead  a  fearful 
phantom  to  rise  and  shake  its  gory  locks  at 
her.  For  it  was  she  who  had  caused  her 
husband's  death,  if  he  were  dead ;  and  she 
started  up  to  walk  the  floor  again  in  a  sus 
pense  that  was  worse  than  certainty.  It 
was  her  sharp  anger  —  yes,  yes,  it  was  her 
contentious  tongue  of  yesterday — that  drove 
him  forth  this  morning.  Ah,  great  Heaven  ! 
but  for  her  wicked  words  he  would  have 
been  at  home  when  the  reservoir  burst ;  he 
would  be  safe  and  thankful  now.  She  had 
murdered  him,  and  she  had  murdered  her 
own  peace — her  own  words  were  the  flam- 


iGS          MRS.  CLAXTON'S  SKELETON 

ing  swords  that  shut  her  out  of  hope  and 
happiness  forever.  She  loved  him.  And 
she  had  lost  him.  Oh,  what  was  a  little 
matter  of  every  day  to  contend  about,  be 
side  the  great  love  of  a  life,  the  praise,  the 
encouragement,  the  sympathy,  the  tender 
ness  ! — and  she  remembered  how  he  had 
seemed  to  adore  her  once ;  how  she  had 
leaned  on  him  and  believed  in  him  once; 
what  warmth  there  used  to  be  in  his  smile, 
what  comfort  in  his  presence.  And  she 
should  never  have  them  again.  She  had  shut 
him  out  from  the  light  of  day,  from  home, 
from  children,  from  life.  He  had  left  her, 
too,  in  anger;  he  had  gone  out  without 
kissing  her ;  he  was  unreconciled  with  her 
in  death ! 

"Oh,  do  not  let  it  be  death  !"  she  cried. 
"  Spare  him,  Lord  !  save  him  !  Do  not  let 
it  be  too  late !  Give  me  back  my  husband  !" 
She  flung  herself  down  in  wild  supplication, 
yearning  and  agonized,  praying  for  him  in 
a  passion  of  prayer,  and  growing  still  and 
silent  in  that  ecstasy  as  if  she  were  turning 
to  stone. 

There  was   movement    and   bustle    now 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  169 

about  the  house,  for  the  waters  had  passed, 
leaving  only  their  slime  behind  them,  thick 
mud  on  carpet  and  floor,  ropy  filth  on  wall 
and  wainscot,  and  the  people  had  left  shel 
ter,  and  were  wading  through  the  knee-deep 
mud  in  search  of  the  spot  that  had  been 
home.  The  servants  were  already  begin 
ning  to  see  if  there  were  any  possibility  of 
setting  things  to  rights  where  the  tide  had 
flowed  through  below  -  stairs,  crushing  par 
titions  and  sweeping  doors  before  it,  and 
\vondering  where  to  find  the  shovels,  when 
in  the  going  and  coming  a  poor  creature 
staggered  into  the  door,  and,  just  as  Thomas 
came  picking  his  way  along  in  high  boots, 
fell  on  the  floor  at  his  feet— a  poor  creat 
ure,  bruised  and  bleeding  and  in  rags, 
caked  with  the  ooze  and  mire,  a  noisome 
and  disgusting  wretch  more  vile  than  any 
thing  else  on  earth. 

"  Look  here,  you  !"  said  Thomas,  touch 
ing  him  with  the  end  of  his  stick.  "Get 
out  of  this,  will  you  ?  It's  no  place  for  to 
be  lying  about  drunk,  and  no  day  neither. 
Get  out,  I  say,  or  I'll  set  the  mastiffs  on 
you.  Here,  Towser  !  here,  Dash  !"  And  in 


170  MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

a  moment  the  snarl  of  the  dogs  was  heard 
as  they  made  for  the  despicable  object. 

"  Thomas !"  cried  a  feeble  voice,  as  the 
poor  creature  rose  on  one  elbow. 

"  Oh,  good  Lord  above  us,  Thomas !" 
cried  Jane,  on  the  stairs.  "  Don't  you  know 
who  it  is  ?" 

And  in  a  moment  the  other  men  had 
been  called,  and  among  them  they  got  that 
sorry  fusion  of  humanity  and  alluvial  de 
posit  up  the  stairs  and  into  the  bath-room. 

But  nothing  of  all  this  stir  did  Mrs. 
Claxton  hear.  In  that  ecstasy  of  petition 
ing  she  was  lost  to  all  that  went  on ;  listen 
ing  for  some  voice  out  of  heaven,  she  heard 
no  earthly  sound.  There  was  a  chorus  from 
the  children  outside,  but  she  did  not  hear 
it ;  the  door  opened  again,  but  she  did  not 
know  it ;  and  then  two  arms  were  about 
her,  two  tired  and  trembling  arms,  and  a 
face  over  which  the  tears  were  pouring  was 
beside  her  own.  She  started  back  quaking 
as  if  it  were  an  apparition  ;  and  then  she 
flung  herself  upon  her  husband's  neck. 

"  Oh,  He  has  heard  me !  He  has  heard 
me !"  she  cried. 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  171 

"  My  darling,"  he  was  murmuring,  "  can 
you  ever  forgive  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  one,"  she  was  sobbing, 
"how  are  you  and  God  ever  going  to  for 
give  me  ?" 

"  I  saw  it  all,"  he  said,  presently,  as  she 
sat  on  the  bedside  where  he  lay,  "  while  I 
was  buffeting  that  water,  and  just  as  I  had 
given  up  and  was  swept  into  the  arms  of 
the  old  Century  Oak — the  only  one  of  them 
that  stands  now,  Caroline.  I  was  nothing 
but  a  mote,  a  speck,  in  that  great  surge, 
and  all  my  arrogance  and  evil  pride,  all  my 
abuse  of  you,  seemed  to  be  bearing  me 
down  into  the  flood.  Oh,  my  child,  I  prayed 
to  Heaven  to  save  me  that  I  might  be  a 
better  husband  to  you  !  And  when  I  came 
to  the  door  my  own  dogs  didn't  know  me." 
And  Mr.  Claxton  cried  again. 

It  was  some  mornings  after  that,  when 
things  were  in  a  degree  restored  to  place, 
and  the  family  breakfasting  together  alone 
for  the  first  time,  that  Mr.  Claxton  gazed 
smilingly  at  his  wife,  and  thought,  with  a 
little  self-congratulation,  that  he  really  was 
a  better  husband  to  her  than  he  had  been, 


i;2  MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON 

as  she  beamed  back  at  him  all  smiles  and 
velvet  blushes.  He  had  never  seen  himself 
as  he  was,  he  thought,  before  that  calamity 
overtook  him  ;  it  had  needed  what  they  call 
an  act  of  God  to  open  his  eyes.  And  now — 
Between  ourselves,  I  don't  believe  he  be 
came  an  angel  all  at  once,  for  that  despotic 
principle  was  bred  in  his  bone,  and  Noah's 
flood  itself  could  not  have  washed  it  out.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  he  were  still  apt 
to  be  found  a  very  exasperating  man,  and  I 
imagine  that  she  was  always  liable  to  the 
reproach  of  the  vixens,  though  if  that  tem 
per  of  hers  ever  struck  fire  again,  remem 
brance  of  one  morning's  agony  could  not 
but  quench  the  spark. 

"  How  happy  we  are  !"  said  he.  "  I  don't 
feel  prepared  to  call  the  accident  a  calam 
ity,  after  all — that  is,  so  far  as  we  are  con 
cerned,"  said  Mr.  Claxton.  checking  him 
self.  "  People  have  supposed  us  enviable 
beings  for  a  good  while,  Caroline,  never 
dreaming  of  the  skeleton  in  our  closet.  But 
in  the  future  we  shall  be  enviable  indeed." 

"  Why,  so  we  are  now !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Claxton. 


MRS.   CLAXTON  S    SKELETON  173 

"That  old  bickering  of  ours  was  a  sad 
skeleton  to  carry  about — it  was  like  a  babe 
in  the  arms  to  you,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"  I  made  as  much  of  it !"  she  said. 

"Well,  let  us  thank  God  that  there  is 
nothing  to  hold  its  bones  together ;  let  us 
thank  God,  my  love,  that  there  is  no  longer 
a  skeleton  in  the  house,  and  that  we  have 
buried  it—" 

"  Fathoms  deep,"  she  cried. 

"  —in  the  mire  of  the  flood." 

And  at  that  Mrs.  Claxton  looked  at  him, 
and  her  lips  began  to  tremble  and  her  eyes 
to  fill,  and  she  forsook  her  chair  and  ran  to 
her  husband,  who,  once  ready  to  be  shocked 
at  such  an  indecorum,  now  clasped  her  in 
his  arms  with  tender  whispers,  stroked  her 
hair  a  moment  as  her  head  rested  on  his 
breast,  and  then  led  her  back  to  her  seat 
with  a  lofty  sort  of  courtesy,  but  paused  to 
kiss  the  tears  off  her  cheek. 

And  Miss  Henrietta,  recalling  the  scene 
in  after -years,  wondered  what  in  the  world 
the  skeleton  could  have  been  over  whose 
burial  her  father  and  mother  were  making 
such  an  ado. 


THE  TRAGIC  STORY  OF  BINNS 


THE  TRAGIC  STORY  OF  BINNS 

THERE  is  no  use  in  making  any  pretences 
about  it.  It  was  no  dark  and  splendid  young 
pirate  fascinated  by  a  rosy  rustic  maiden. 
It  was  no  foreign  prince  in  disguise  attract 
ed  by  the  grace  of  an  unfettered  shape  bal 
ancing  water-pails  at  the  spring,  and  ready 
to  override  all  the  conventions  of  society 
and  make  the  girl  his  wife.  It  was  Binns, 
the  butcher-boy. 

A  scrap  of  a  fellow  he  was ;  so  short, 
so  slight,  so  pale,  so  insignificant,  that  it 
seemed  as  if,  should  he  take  off  his  long 
blue  blouse,  there  would  really  be  nothing 
left  of  him — but  his  freckles.  And  Roxy,  she 
was  half  again  his  height,  and  buxom  and 
blooming,  not  to  say  blowsy,  deep-colored, 
and  altogether  with  a  great  deal  of  her. 

If  Roxy  were  not  Roxy,  the  cook,  talking 
at  the  kitchen  storm-door  with  Binns,  whose 
scraggy  horse  dropped  his  head  so  low  with 


178  THE   TRAGIC   STORY   OF  BINNS 

the  dropping  of  the  reins  that  he  looked  as 
if  he  would  drop  in  the  street  altogether  if 
the  authorities  did  not  interfere — if  Roxy 
were  not  Roxy,  but  were  Gladys  tossing 
a  rose  over  the  drawing-room  balcony  to 
the  gallant  young  cavalry  officer  on  his 
prancing  Abdallah  that  had  carried  him 
through  the  terrific  skirmishes  of  an  Indian 
campaign,  then  I  will  admit  that  more  en 
tertainment  and  much  finer  company  might 
be  had  out  of  the  affair.  The  dinners  which 
we  might  attend  together  in  the  course  of 
our  acquaintance  would  be  very  different 
from  the  surreptitious  turnovers  and  cus 
tards  with  which  Roxy  regaled  Binns ;  the 
music  we  might  hear  would  have  far  other 
charms  than  those  strains  which  Roxy,  in 
her  hours  of  leisure,  called  out  from  a  bit 
of  comb  wound  with  a  bit  of  paper ;  the 
dresses,  too,  would  be  far  more  satisfactory 
to  the  soul  and  the  soul's  eye  than  Roxy's 
dirt-colored  calicoes,  bought  to  wash  and 
hide  the  dirt  as  long  previously  as  might 
be  ;  and  we  will  say  nothing  of  the  dia 
monds,  the  pictures,  the  operas,  and  all  the 
rest  that  we  might  arrive  at  in  our  expe- 


THE    TRAGIC   STORY    OF    BINNS  179 

riences ;  for  Roxy  had  no  diamonds  but 
her  tears,  and  very  few  of  them  in  the 
beginning  ;  no  pictures  but  cuttings  from 
the  comic  weeklies,  which  she  pinned  up 
about  the  kitchen;  and  as  for  the  dinners, 
again,  I  doubt  if  we  should  bring  better 
appetites  to  our  sumptuous  banquet,  with 
terrapin  and  canvas -back  and  champagne 
frappe,  than  Binns  had  when  grinning  over 
his  apple  turnover,  wiping  his  mouth  on  his 
blue  sleeve  after  it,  and  giving  Roxy  a  re 
sounding  smack,  to  receive  in  return  as  re 
sounding  a  slap.  "  She's  a  clipper,  I  say," 
Binns  would  chuckle,  as  if  it  were  a  love- 
pat  after  his  own  heart.  Meanwhile  not  an 
opera  of  all  the  list  is  to  be  heard  with  more 
satisfaction  than  that  wont  to  be  evinced  by 
Binns  as  he  sat,  during  his  evenings  "  on," 
while  Roxy,  after  her  voluntary  upon  the 
comb  and  paper,  which  she  kept  in  the 
drawer  of  the  kitchen  table  with  the  nut 
megs  and  allspice,  sang  in  her  loud  and 
clear,  if  somewhat  nasal,  voice  the  simple 
ballad  of  "  Whoa,  Emma  !"  or 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  love  him, 
He  does  not  care  for  me, 


ISO  THE   TRAGIC   STORY   OF    BINNS 

But  my  poor  heart  will  wander 

Wherever  he  may  be. 
If  I  had  minded  mother 

I'd  not  been  here  to-day; 
But  I  was  young  and  foolish, 

And  easy  led  astray "  ; 

or  reverted  to  older  tunes  — "  Oh,  where 
have  you  been,  Lord  Ronald,  my  son  ?"  and 
'*  Drownded,  drownded,  in  the  middle  of 
the  sea,"  with  other  like  tearful  selections. 
To  be  sure,  Binns's  delight  was  chiefly 
manifested  by  a  frequent  use  of  his  coat- 
sleeve  in  the  manner  of  lachrymose  indi 
viduals  without  a  handkerchief,  in  a  very 
luxury  of  woe ;  for  if  the  comb  and  paper 
tickled  the  cockles  of  his  heart,  as  some 
mellow  flute  or  honeyed  violin  might  do,  the 
enjoyment  was  just  as  ecstatic  which  made 
the  tears  pour  forth  over  the  sad  fate  of  the 
lovers  "  'Way  down  in  Salem  town,"  while 
he  thought  nothing  of  an  unprotected  out 
right  boohoo,  with  his  face  twisted  into  all 
sorts  of  a  coil,  over  the  last  words  of  the 
wretched  person  who  implores, 

"Oh,    make  my   grave   quick,    brother,    make    my 

grave  deep; 
The  sooner  I  lay  there  the  sooner  I'll  sleep; 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS  181 

For  why  should  I  wait  from  this  sad  world  to  part, 
When  the  girl  that  I  love  so  has  broken  my  heart  ?" 

Nevertheless,  it  was  not  of  love,  at  any  rate 
not  of  love  of  Roxy,  that  Binns  would  ever 
die.  Roxy's  turnovers  and  gingersnaps 
and  five  -  fingered  doughnuts,  her  liberal 
bowls  of  coffee  and  secret  draughts  of  min 
eral  water,  were  very  agreeable  variations 
in  his  daily  fare.  When  Roxy  asked  him  to 
come  in  and  spend  an  evening  with  some 
friends  of  hers  and  have  a  game  of  forty- 
five,  he  saw  visions  of  the  same  run  of 
dainties,  and  was  much  pleased  by  the  rosy 
apples  and  tingling  cider  and  roasted  chest 
nuts  of  the  regale.  Come  again  ?  Of  course 
he  would  come  again — one  did  not  need  to 
be  asked  twice  to  things  of  that  sort.  He 
came  again,  and  this  time  the  nuts  were 
butternuts,  and  there  were  cookies  as  nearly 
pound-cake  as  it  is  the  nature  of  cookies  to 
approach,  and  Binns  munched  and  cracked 
and  picked  and  sipped,  and  thought  that 
Roxy  was  a  mighty  cute  body  to  be  able  to 
have  the  kitchen  to  herself  at  this  hour,  and 
to  have  whatever  she  chose  in  it,  moreover. 
And  so  he  came  again. 


182  THE   TRAGIC   STORY   OF    BINNS 

Was  it  Roxy's  cakes  and  ale  alone,  then, 
that  allured  Binns  ?  Was  not  the  face  re 
flected  in  the  pewter  platter  she  scoured, 
as  she  sang  her  doleful  ditties,  as  fair  to 
him  as  the  face  of  Gladys  thrown  up  from 
a  golden  salver  would  have  been  to  the 
cavalry  officer  ?  Sooth,  I  know  not.  I  only 
know  that  a  cosey  kitchen,  with  a  hot  stove 
and  bright  tins,  is  a  pleasant  place,  and  a 
capacious  rocking-chair  with  long  rockers, 
in  which  you  are  allowed  to  travel  all  about 
the  kitchen,  is  a  comfortable  thing,  and  that 
hands  never  look  more  kindly  than  when 
pressing  toothsome  dainties  upon  you,  and 
that  if  one  has  nothing  better  to  do  one  is 
rather  inclined  to  repeat  such  experiences 
than  not.  If,  then,  it  is  suggested,  very  pal 
pably  suggested,  to  one,  in  return,  that  the 
old  butcher's  nag  should  be  hitched  into 
the  pung,  with  the  horse-blanket  for  a  robe, 
and  a  sleigh-ride  should  be  given  the  gen 
erous  purveyor  of  doughnuts  and  peanuts, 
could  one  do  less  ?  And  as  for  scaring 
Roxy  from  any  repetition  of  the  suggestion 
by  tipping  her  over  into  a  crusty  snow-drift, 
one's  mind  would  have  to  move  a  great  deal 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS  183 

more  quickly  than  what  answered  Binns  for 
a  mind  was  able  to  do  in  order  to  be  up  to 
such  an  opportunity. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Roxy.  "  The 
riext  time,  Binns,  I'll  take  the  big  red  com 
forter  off  my  bed  for  an  extra  robe,  and  a 
couple  of  hot  flat-irons  — or  bricks  would  be 
better,  wouldn't  they? — wrapped  in  news 
papers,  and  we'll  be  as  warm  as  toast.  Say 
Friday.  There'll  be  a  first-rate  moon.  And 
we'll  have  a  real  egg-and-cider  flip  with  the 
hot  stove-lifter  in  it  when  we  get  back." 

"  If— if— he'll  let  me  have  the  horse,"  said 
Binns,  doubtfully,  and  not  with  radiating 
pleasure. 

"  Oh,  of  course  he  will.  Now  you  put  the 
blanket  on  him  and  come  in,  and  we'll  have 
some  hot  hash — I've  got  some  left  over  all 
ready  to  warm  up  —  and  a  little  taste  of 
sangaree." 

If  I  should  say  that  Roxy's  sangaree  was 
made  of  vinegar  and  hot  water  and  brown 
sugar  and  nutmeg  and  other  like  substances, 
you  would  not  believe  how  Binns  smacked 
his  lips  over  it ;  so  what  is  the  use  of  say 
ing  anything  of  the  sort  ?  But  it  is  true 


184          THE   TRAGIC   STORY   OF    BINNS 

that  Binns  went  away  repeating  to  himself, 
"  Well,  for  getting  sunthin  outer  northing, 
she's  a  beater !"  And  so  I  am  sure  —  in 
view  of  Binns — she  was. 

When  —  hardly  knowing  how  to  help  it, 
Roxy  having  taken  it  so  for  granted,  feeling 
that  he  was  driven  by  an  inexorable  fate 
when  Roxy  said  that  on  Monday  the  moon 
would  be  good,  as  if  the  moon  wasn't  al 
ways  good — Binns  asked  for  the  horse  the 
third  time,  his  master  slapped  him  on  the 
back  with  a  force  that  sent  him  half  across 
the  shop.  "  Well,  Binns,"  said  he,  "  so  you've 
got  a  girl,  you  sly  dog !  I  never  thought 
you'd  muster  face  enough  for  that.  Have 
the  old  horse  and  welcome ,  there's  no  dan 
ger  of  fast  driving  when  two  folks  are  in 
love."  During  this  kindly  if  not  altogether 
delicate  address,  Binns  was  pink  and  purple, 
yellow,  green,  blue,  and  white,  by  turns, 
with  fright,  with  shame,  with  gratified  van 
ity,  with  a  sense  of  manly  power,  but,  above 
everything  else,  with  a  prevailing  awe  and 
terror  of  it  all,  anyway,  as  the  full  meaning 
of  his  master's  words  overcame  him,  and 
the  gulfs  of  the  future  yawned  before  him. 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS  185 

To  eat  Roxy's  turnovers  was  one  thing  — 
to  marry  her  was  quite  another.  The  possi 
bility  had  not  occurred  to  him  before  ,  only 
a  vague  consciousness  of  the  impossibility 
of  anything  else  was  beginning  to  oppress 
him — all  the  more  vaguely,  perhaps,  because 
of  his  extreme  unwillingness  to  utter  any 
thing  of  the  sort  even  to  himself. 

If  Binns  had  not  had  to  stop  at  the  house 
for  the  dinner  order,  it  is  doubtful  if  he 
would  have  seen  Roxy  that  day.  But  "  there 
was  no  going  back  on  the  shop,"  he  said  to 
himself,  and,  looking  like  a  sheep,  he  went 
prepared  to  take  the  order  for  beef. 

"  Roxy !"  the  old  gardener  called,  opening 
the  door — for  Binns,  on  the  idea  of  getting  it 
over  with,  was  a  little  earlier  than  common, 
and  Roxy  was  not  upon  the  outposts  as 
usual — "  here's  your  young  man  !" 

"  Roxy  !"  cried  the  mischievous  and  vulgar 
Kitty,  "  here's  your  feller  !" 

"  You  go  along !"  said  Roxy,  making  her 
appearance,  and  wiping  her  hands  on  her 
pink  print  apron.  And  there  stood  Binns, 
as  pink  as  the  apron;  and  he  stammered 
something  about  to-night  at  half-past  seven 


1 86  THE   TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS 

sharp,  and  hurried  off,  forgetting  all  about 
the  order.  He  had  to  come  back,  of  course, 
and  he  found  Roxy  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a 
water-pail  inside  the  storm -door,  with  her 
pink  apron  thrown  over  her  pink  face,  sob 
bing  fit  to  break  her  heart. 

"Why  — why— Roxy  — why,  what's  the 
matter,  Roxy  ?"  he  exclaimed.  But  Roxy 
only  sobbed,  the  sob  none  the  less  affecting 
to  a  tender-hearted  hearer  because  broken 
by  a  hiccough.  "  Why,  Roxy  —  why,  what 
on  earth  —  has  anybody  been  a-hurting  of 
you  ?  Why  don't  you  tell  me  ?" 

But  Roxy's  sobs  still  preserved  the  se 
cret. 

Mr.  Binns  really  began  to  feel  bad  him 
self.  What  man  unmoved  can  see  lovely 
woman  shed  tears  ?  "  Come  now,  Roxy, 
don't  you  be  a-fretting,"  he  urged.  "  You 
just  wipe  your  eyes  and  tell  me  all  about 
it." 

"Oh!     No!     I— I  can't." 

"Oh,  come  now,  Roxy." 

"It's  — it's  — that  hateful— that  — oh,  I 
can't  —  that  spiteful  Kitty  —  a-calling  you 
my  feller." 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS  187 

"Well,"  said  Binns,  "  ain't  I?" 
Wretched  Binns !  To  have  taken  pains 
not  to  call  Roxy  dear,  to  tell  her  to  wipe  her 
eyes,  not  her  bright  eyes,  and  to  be  caught 
in  this  unguarded  way  by  three  chance 
words  !  It  was  all  over  now;  he  was  in  for 
it,  he  saw  plainly ;  he  might  as  well  give  up 
handsomely.  And  yet  —  he  couldn't.  All 
that  he  could  do  was  to  take  to  his  heels 
and  clip  down  the  steps  and  into  the  pung 
and  drive  away  as  if  Wild  Ladies — or  some 
thing  else — were  after  him.  It  was  Roxy's 
voice  that  was  after  him,  shrill  as  a  view- 
halloo :  "Oh,  Binns!  A  tenderloin  roast! 
First  cut !  Don't  forget — ten  pounds — " 

But  Binns  had  to  face  the  music  that 
night  or  else  Mr.  McMasters  would  have 
to  get  another  butcher-boy,  as  otherwise  he 
would  not  dare  face  Roxy  to-morrow,  and 
there  had  been  too  much  trouble  from  peo 
ple  needing  employment  in  those  overcrowd 
ed  days  for  him  to  give  up  his  place  for  a 
trifle.  Well,  he  would  go.  And  he  would 
say,  "  Roxy,  now  let's  be  friends,  two  friends, 
two  fellers  together,  two  folks  bound  to  have 
a  good  sleigh-ride,  with  no  sparking  about 


l88  THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS 

it,  no  nonsense,  no — you  know — no  spoon 
ing.  You're  a  first-rate  girl,  and  I  don't 
know  such  a  hand  at  turnovers  in  all  the 
kitchens  I  see ;  but  that's  no  reason  we 
should  be  a  couple  of  fools  with  nothing  to 
be  fools  on.  If  I  was  in  the  marrying  way, 
there's  nobody  I  wouldn't  marry  quicker  'n 
you,"  and  here  he  knew  his  conscience 
would  twinge  him,  but  he  would  say  it. 
"  But  I  ain't,  and  you  ain't,  and  so  we'll 
just  continue  the  services  as  we  were  go 
ing  on  before." 

And  did  he  say  it?  Did  Binns  say  it? 
Not  a  word  of  it !  Roxy  was  at  the  gate, 
all  alert,  peering  out,  with  the  bright  red 
comforter  over  her  arm;  and  running  back 
for  the  hot  bricks,  she  had  whisked  into 
that  pung,  and  tucked  the  comforter  about 
them,  and  chirruped  to  the  old  nag,  all  in  a 
moment,  and  Binns  found  himself  slipping 
along  the  road  without  a  word,  but — I  am 
ashamed  to  tell  it — with  a  shrewd  suspicion 
that  somehow  he  had  better  not  lean  back, 
for  that  was  Roxy's  arm  behind  him. 

"I  declare!"  said  Roxy.  "Splendid 
sleighing,  splendid  moonlight,  warm  as 


THE   TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS  189 

toast,  and  your — your — you  know  who — 
beside  you,  a- driving  as  if  he  could  turn 
round  on  the  point  of  a  pin — I  don't  know 
as  any  one  needs  to  be  any  happier." 

Perhaps  the  compliment  on  his  driving 
was  soothing  to  Binns's  perturbed  soul ; 
but  he  was  naturally  reticent,  and  at  that 
moment  he  did  not  commit  himself.  One 
thing  was  safe  —  music;  and  presently  he 
had  piped  up  a  warlike  song : 

"  Ne'er  shall  oppressors  brave  us, 
Or  foreign  power  enslave  us  ; 
Our  stripes  and  stars  shall  wave  us 

To  glory  or  the  tomb  ! 
Hark  !  'tis  the  war-trump  sounding  !" 

followed  by  another  effort  indicative  of  the 
leadings  of  his  fancy,  whose  refrain  rang : 

"Pride  of  the  pirate's  heart!" 

This  failure  of  Binns  to  improve  his  op 
portunity  evidently  struck  no  chill  to  Roxy's 
ardor.  They  were  approaching  Trimble's 
Hollow,  where  a  bridge  crossed  the  frozen 
mill-stream,  and  Binns  leaned  forward  for 
the  whip  in  order  to  accelerate  their  motion 


igo  THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS 

— one  could  not  say  speed — when  suddenly 
Roxy  flung  herself  a  little  on  one  side,  cry 
ing  out,  "  No,  no,  now,  you  mustn't  begin 
that!" 

"  Mustn't  begin  what?"  said  Binns,  gruffly. 

"  Kissing  me  at  every  bridge  we  come  to, 
just  as  all  the  other  boys  do.  It's  some 
thing  I  never  did  approve  of." 

"Nor  I  nuther,"  said  Binns.  But  what 
if  you  don't  approve  of  a  thing — when  a 
rosy  cup  of  wine  is  held  to  your  lips,  and 
the  fire  tingles  there,  and  the  color  sparkles, 
and  the  aroma  is  that  of  a  garden  of  flow 
ers  under  your  nose,  do  you  always  have 
the  strength  of  mind  to  set  that  cup  down 
instantly?  Instantly;  for  the  man  as  well 
as  the  woman  who  hesitates  is  lost.  And 
Binns,  with  those  sparkling  eyes  sparkling 
into  his,  that  rosy  cheek  close  beside  his 
own,  those  wholesome  rosy  lips —  I  am  sure 
that  neither  you  nor  I  would  have  done  the 
like — but  Binns  was  only  Binns.  And  what 
you  have  done  once  it  is  so  easy  to  do  again. 
Before  they  reached  home,  that  wicked 
Binns — the  poor  guileless  little  fellow — felt 
himself  quite  on  the  way  to  become  what, 


THE   TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS  igr 

in  his  ignorance  of  the  existence  of  Don 
Giovanni,  stood  for  the  same  thing.  But 
as  for  Roxy,  she  felt  very  well  satisfied  with 
herself  and  her  excursion.  Binns  was  hers ; 
he  himself  had  said  it  that  morning ;  and  on 
the  sleigh-ride  that  evening  he  had  conduct 
ed  very  much  as,  in  her  imagination  and 
belief,  all  lovers  should  conduct.  The  horse 
was  blanketed  at  the  hitching -post,  and 
Binns  was  brought  in  whether  he  would  or 
no,  and  some  sequestered  turkey-bones  were 
grilled,  and  a  flip  was  made,  and  there  had 
been  daring  possession  taken  of  a  mince- 
pie,  the  goodly  share  of  which  transformed 
into  a  part  of  Binns  might  have  caused  a 
procession  of  the  ghosts  of  all  his  grand 
mothers  since  the  Flood  to  walk  across  his 
counterpane  that  night.  And  Binns  ate 
and  drank,  and  actually  made  several  little 
jokes,  and  apropos  of  the  pastry  he  sang : 

"When  Washington  was  but  a  boy 

As  big  as  you  or  I, 
He  climbed  his  mother's  cupboard, 
And  he  stole  her  apple-pie," 

appearing  to  Roxy  as  he  sang  as  delightful 


IQ2  THE    TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS 

a  personage  as  an  end  man.  And  when  he 
went  away  Roxy  bent  and  put  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  gave  him  a  good  fair 
kiss  on  his  mouth,  as  any  girl  should  kiss 
her  sweetheart. 

It  was  not  in  these  days  Binns  dealt  Roxy 
the  hearty  smack,  and  received  the  no  less 
hearty  slap  in  return  ;  that  was  when  smacks 
and  slaps  meant  nothing,  and  in  the  inno 
cence  of  his  heart  Binns  was  treating  Ruxy 
as  he  did  most  of  the  other  kitchen  girls 
upon  his  rounds.  Later  on,  when  the  nat 
ure  of  Roxy's  attentions,  and  of  her  inten 
tions  too,  became  more  pointed,  these  little 
occurrences  were  susceptible  of  misconstruc 
tion;  and  Binns  had  even  been  embarrassed 
as  to  the  return  he  should  make  for  her  tarts 
and  jellies,  without,  however,  being  able  to 
forego  the  dainties  offered  by  the  assiduous 
charmer.  But  now — well,  if  one  must  be 
kissed,  Roxy's  was  a  sweet  and  wholesome 
mouth,  and  that  whip  of  frothy  cream  with 
plum  preserve  at  the  bottom  of  it  was  sweet 
and  wholesome  too. 

It  was  generally  understood  in  the  house 
hold  now  that  Roxy  and  Binns  were  "  keep- 


THE   TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS  193 

ing  company,"  and  no  one  was  surprised 
to  see  Roxy  always,  in  the  afternoon  hours, 
with  a  piece  of  white  cloth  in  her  hand, 
sometimes  a  part  of  what  appeared  to  be  an 
elaborate  trousseau  made  chiefly  of  tucks 
and  insertings  and  edgings,  sometimes  a 
table-cloth  she  was  hemming,  or  towels 
she  was  fringing,  with  a  pride  of  possession 
that  needed  no  bashful  concealment.  She 
had  a  sewing  -  machine  of  her  own  in  her 
attic  chamber,  and  who  would  have  had 
the  heart  to  stop  its  low  melodious  thun 
der,  long  after  every  soul  in  the  house  was 
in  bed  ?  If  it  were  Gladys,  softly  stitching 
folds  of  lace  on  sheer  lawn,  and  you  saw 
the  light  in  her  lattice,  she  would  indeed 
have  been  a  subject  of  romantic  interest. 

It  was  not  exactly  a  pleasant  thing,  all 
this  unreserve  of  Roxy's.  And  it  was  really 
a  relief  to  know  that  it  had  its  side  of 
maidenly  delicacy  and  diffidence.  This  was 
exhibited  in  some  faint  degree  when  one 
afternoon  Binns,  who  had  been  belated, 
stopped  at  the  door,  with  a  cargo  of  up- 
country  calves,  to  take  the  order  for  next 
day's  provision,  and  suddenly  there  was  a 


I94  THE   TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS 

hurrying  and  scurrying,  and  Roxy  was  hid 
ing  something  white  and  bunchy  under  her 
apron,  and  then  throwing  it  under  the  table, 
very  red  in  the  face  herself,  half  giggling, 
half  crying,  and  Kitty,  making  a  dive,  was 
drawing  the  article  from  its  temporary  ref 
uge,  and  holding  it  up  in  the  face  of  all 
creation. 

"  What's  that  ?"  said  Binns. 

"  Oh  my,  Kitty  !  Oh,  don't !  How  can 
you,  Kitty  ?  Ain't  you  'shamed  ?"  cried 
Roxy.  And  up  went  the  apron  across  the 
hair,  making  a  muss  of  all  the  crimps  that 
had  cost  her  an  hour  over  kerosene  lamp  and 
slate-pencil  when  the  kitchen  work  was  done. 

"  Why,  what's  all  the  fuss  about  that  ?" 
said  Binns,  good  -  naturedly,  with  Kitty's 
contagious  laugh. 

"As  if  you  didn't  know!"  said  Kitty. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  particular  in  a  cot 
ton  bag,"  said  Binns. 

"  It's  house-keeping  goods,  you  stupid  !" 
cried  Kitty.  "  Isn't  it,  Roxy  ?" 

"  Well,  what  if  it  is  ?" 

"  Oh,  Binns  !"  cried  Roxy,  pulling  down 
the  apron  and  showing  a  face  where  the 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS  195 

mismated  eyes  were  full  of  liquid  brightness, 
and  the  ruddy  cheeks  were  redder  still  with 
blushes.  "  It's — it's  ours  !" 

"  Ours  !" 

"  And  I've  got  a  dozen  of  them  !" 

"  A  dozen—" 

"  I've  a  dozen  of  everything,"  cried  Roxy, 
exultantly,  all  barriers  burned  away,  "  ex 
cept  towels,  and  I've  six  dozen  of  them.  I 
sent  up  to  the  great  sale  where  Rivers  is 
running  linen  goods  against  Black's  running 
of  gloves,  and  got  'em  for  ninepence  apiece. 
Think  of  that !" 

A  long  whistle  escaped  from  Binns's 
pursed-up  lips,  round  as  which  his  eyes  had 
opened,  and  then,  without  another  syllable, 
the  astonished  bridegroom  and  prospective 
householder  darted  down  the  back  steps 
and  into  his  cart,  and  galloped  away,  look 
ing  as  nearly  like  one  of  the  calves  inside 
the  rack  as  a  human  being  could. 

It  must  have  been  a  rather  tremendous 
moment  for  Binns.  Up  to  that  interview 
with  one  of  the  dozen  of  them  he  had  been 
comparatively  a  free  man,  with  nothing  def 
initely  pledged,  with  everything  that  was 


196          THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS 

really  decisive  so  far  away  that  he  could 
look  at  it  without  shutting  his  eyes,  and 
with  all  the  contingencies  of  time  and  space 
between.  But  now — house-keeping  goods  ! 
Bought  and  paid  for !  Every  article  of  them 
was  like  a  winding-sheet  that  bound  him 
hand  and  foot.  He  felt  himself  fettered, 
with  all  the  world  for  witness ;  and  even  if 
he  could  have  escaped  otherwise,  here  in 
some  mysterious  manner,  a  complication  of 
moral  forces,  were  the  great  firm  of  Rivers 
and  the  great  firm  of  Black,  in  the  great 
metropolis,  brought  in  as  restraining  in 
fluences.  Something  like  this  must  have 
wrought  on  Binns's  inner  consciousness  as 
nothing  ever  did  before,  for  he  wound  him 
self  up  to  the  pitch  of  coming  that  very 
evening  for  a  voluntary  and  unappointed 
call  upon  Roxy,  who,  sitting  on  the  back 
steps— for  it  was  late  in  the  spring — had 
just  put  the  last  thread  that  she  could  see 
into  her  hemstitching. 

"  Roxy,"  said  Binns,  after  a  preliminary 
skirmish,  "  you're  a  great  seamstress.  But 
don't  you  think,  say — that — that  this  is  a 
little  previous  ?" 


THE   TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS  197 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  feel  so,  Binns,"  said 
Roxy,  demurely,  taking  only  the  latest  usage 
of  the  word.  And  then,  looking  up  with  her 
happiest  smile,  she  added,  "  I  think  it's  a 
little  previous  myself." 

"  Then  what  in  the  world  are  you  doing 
it  for  ?"  blurted  out  Binns. 

"  Doing  it  for  ?"  said  Roxy,  in  amaze 
ment.  "  Why,  for  our  house — for  us." 

"  Don't  you  think  we're  a  couple  of  fools, 
Roxy?"  he  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  look 
ing  in  the  direction  of  Europe  or  Africa,  or 
anything  but  Roxy. 

"  A— couple— of-fools  ?" 

"  Not  to  let  well  enough  alone,"  he  con 
trived  to  add  before  his  voice  failed  and 
went  out. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Binns," 
said  Roxy. 

"  Well,"  said  Binns,  moistening  his  lips 
in  order  to  articulate,  "  I  mean — you're  very 
well  off  as  you  be,  and  so'm  I  at  home. 
And  how  are  we  going — to  live — with  noth 
ing — to  live  on  ?  And  where  ?  And  what's 
the  use  of  all  your  house-keeping  goods  ?" 

"  Binns !"  cried   Roxy.     And   there  was 


198  THE    TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS 

ominous  silence  for  a  moment  before  the 
floodgates  of  her  eloquence  were  opened. 
"  When  we  only  want  three  rooms  !M  she 
cried.  "  And  can  hire  them  in  your  own 
mother's  house.  And  I've  money  enough 
put  by  for  a  carpet  and  a  cooking-stove 
and  a  rocking-chair.  And  I've  got  a  cham 
ber-set  of  my  own,  and  a  sewing-machine, 
and  a  dozen  napkins,  and  six  table-cloths, 
and  a  dozen  sheets,  and  a  dozen  pillow 
cases,  and  six  dozen  towels,  and  four  blan 
kets,  and  a  comforter  I  made  myself,  and 
patchwork  quilts  enough  to  make  a  circus 
tent,  and  two  worked  motters,  and  no  end 
of  braided  mats — for  I've  always,  always 
been  getting  ready !  And  there's  all  the 
wedding-presents  yet,  and  clothes  enough 
to  last  me  a  couple  of  years  and  more, 
and  I'll  never  come  upon  you  for  any. 
And  you  with  six  dollars  a  week  and  some 
hens,  and  I  able  to  run  a  kitchen -gar 
den  myself  while  you're  at  the  shop,  and 
raise  all  the  vegetables  we'll  use,  and  the 
ladies  of  the  house  here  going  to  give  me 
their  clear-starching  to  do,  anyway,  and 
you  to  have  your  clothes  mended  and  your 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS 


I99 


washing  done  with  no  expense,  and  no 
board  to  pay— 

"  I  don't  pay  board  now,"  stammered 
Binns,  his  words  a  straw  upon  the  flood. 

"  And  after  a  little  we  could  take  a  cou 
ple  of  boarders,  you  know,  or  I  would  have 
shoes  to  bind  from  the  shop,  or  we  could 
do  both,  and  have  the  cheerfulest  kind  of 
evenings,  and  you  could  get  your  butcher's- 
meat  first  cost,  of  course." 

"  How  many  turnovers  and  whips  and  jel 
lies  and  sangarees  and  hearts  and  rounds 
and  doughnuts  do  you  think  we  could  get 
on  six  dollars  a  week  ?"  asked  Binns,  with 
courageous  sarcasm. 

"  Well,  I  guess  we  sha'n't  go  without 
doughnuts,"  answered  Roxy,  scornfully. 
"  And  as  for  turnovers,  there's  apple-trees 
right  in  your  mother's  yard." 

"  But  they're  mother's." 

"  What  if  they  are  ?" 

"  I  guess  you'd  find  out  if  you  went  to 
picking  mother's  apples  for  your  sauce." 

"Well,  then,  we  can  set  some  out  our 
selves.  And  as  for  sangarees,  I  rather 
think  I  know  how  to  make  them  as  cheap 


200  THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    RINNS 

as  the  next.  And  maybe  we  can  keep  a 
cow  after  a  little.  /'//  milk  her,  Binns. 
And  I'm  sure  I  mean  to  have  a  couple  of 
little  black  pigs.  And  by-and-by,  if  we  can 
manage  to  raise  turkeys,  it  will  be  money 
in  our  pockets.  Yes,  Binns,  there  isn't  any 
doubt  about  it — it  will  be  money  in  our 
pockets  to  go  to  house  keeping  right  away, 
and  I  make  no  question  I  will  have  silver 
spoons  given  me  here,  and  money  and  ev 
erything.  And  then,  Binns,  you're  noth 
ing  now  but  McMasters's  butcher-boy  — 
but  then  you'll  be  a  married  man — McMas 
ters's  man  ;  and  they  won't  be  calling  you 
by  your  given  name,  and  ordering  you 
round.  You'll  be  somebody,  and  receive 
consideration  ;  and  I  think  the  sooner  we 
set  the  day  the  better,  on  account  of  get 
ting  the  garden  started.  What  do  you  say 
to  this  day  fortnight?  That  '11  give  me 
time  for  the  cake." 

"I — I'll  see,"  cried  the  agonized  Binns, 
who  may  have  felt  as  if  an  anaconda  had 
swallowed  him.  And  he  stood  up  and  lis 
tened  to  a  lad  whistling  as  he  went  up  the 
road  unseen  behind  the  high  garden  wall, 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS  2OI 

his  hands  in  his  pockets,  a  free  spirit,  while 
he- 
He  turned  and  looked  at  Roxy.  She  was 
not  attractive-looking,  she  was  only  good- 
natured  ;  her  teeth  were  uneven,  although 
her  mouth  was  wholesome,  her  skin  was 
rough  and  red,  her  hair  was  frowsy,  her 
snapping  eyes  were  not  a  pair.  He  sat 
down  upon  the  steps  again,  and  hid  his  face 
in  his  hands,  and  groaned  aloud.  "  I — I 
don't  see  how  I  can  leave  my  mother,"  he 
said. 

Poor  Binns.  He  was  no  beauty  himself, 
with  his  red  head  and  his  freckles,  his  pale 
eyes  and  lips,  and  his  dwarfish  stature ;  and 
it  is  doubtful  if  another  girl  in  town  would 
have  thought  of  him  as  lover  and  husband. 
But  what  did  he  care  for  that  ?  He  had  not 
thought  of  another  girl.  Nor  of  this  one 
either.  And  how  it  had  all  come  about  he 
was  sure  he  did  not  know.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  he  were  in  a  dreadful  dream,  where 
one  thing  happens  and  another  follows  with 
out  any  relation,  till  it  all  becomes  a  night 
mare. 

The  next  day  no  Binns  arrived  to  take 


202  THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS 

the  dinner  order.     And  on    the  following 

o 

day  a  tall,  thin  fellow,  who  looked  like 
Binns  pulled  out  and  flattened,  appeared  at 
the  storm -door  in  his  place;  and  on  the 
third  day  we  learned  that  Binns  was  sick  in 
bed  at  home. 

Anything  like  Roxy's  importance  and 
bustle  now  was  seldom  seen  in  the  house. 
At  first  her  reddish  hue  waned,  and  then 
she  went  about  her  work  with  one  tear  trick 
ling  after  another  along  her  nose  and  glit 
tering  suspended  on  its  tip.  At  last,  how 
ever,  nature  gave  way,  and  Roxy  sat  down 
in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen  and  gave  way 
too. 

"  Well,  if  ever  !"  said  Kitty.  "  If  you  ain't 
as  big  a  baby  as  Binns  is !" 

"I  guess  you'd  cry,'*  whimpered  Roxy, 
"  if— if— your— " 

"  Well  ?     My—" 

"  Your — sweetheart  was  —  suffering  —  at 
home — and  he  might  as  well  be  in  Egypt, 
with  that  mother  of  his — and  you  didn't 
know—" 

"  As  if  'twas  worse  for  Binns  than  for  the 
rest  of  us  to  have  a  toothache  or  his  head 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS  203 

hurt  him  !  What  on  earth  are  you  worry 
ing  about  it  for,  anyway  ?" 

"Because  it's  my  duty  to,"  said  Roxy, 
severely.  And  it  being  her  afternoon  out, 
she  put  on  her  things  and  stalked  up  the 
road  to  Binns's  home,  where  she  made  her 
self  and  her  errand  known,  and  remained 
till  after  nightfall ;  to  everybody's  surprise 
Binns  himself  returning  with  her. 

Binns  and  Roxy,  however,  did  not  oc 
cupy  the  whole  attention  of  the  family,  and 
after  the  first  glance  it  was  not  observed 
whether  they  came  into  the  kitchen  or 
went  strolling  down  the  vegetable  garden 
together.  But  some  time  after  the  house 
should  have  been  closed  and  Roxy  should 
have  been  reposing  by  Kitty's  side,  it  was 
found  that  she  had  not  come  in,  and  the 
hat  and  feather  with  which  she  exaggerated 
her  stature  were  seen  conspicuously  touched 
by  the  ray  of  the  late  -  rising  moon  outside 
the  high  street  fence.  Needless  to  say  that 
Binns  was  not  seen  at  all. 

But  Binns  was  present  all  the  same,  as  in 
the  active  conversation  going  on  out  there, 
in  answer  to  Roxy's  shrill  expostulations,  a 


204  THE    TRAGIC     STORY    OF    BINNS 

gruff  little  growl  seemed  to  rise  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth — the  voice  of  Binns. 

"  But  I'm  all  ready,  Binns.  I've  got 
everything  except  the  carpet  and  the  cook 
ing  -  stove,  and  I  haven't  asked  you  to 
get  a  thing,  and  I've  spent  all  the  mon 
ey,  except  enough  for  them,  that  I've  laid 
up  since  I've  been  having  my  wages  my 
self/' 

"  You  needn't/'  said  the  unseen  owner  of 
the  growl.  "  Nobody  asked  you  to." 

"  I  didn't  wait  for  anybody  to  ask  me.  It 
isn't  my  way.  I  like  to  be  generous.  I 
meant  to  surprise  you  and  please  you,  and 
show  you  that  I  came  to  you  pretty  fore 
handed."  And  here  Roxy's  voice  was  ap 
parently  drowned  in  tears. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  muttered  Binns,  in  the 
pause.  "  Mother  says  it's  ridic'lous  ;  she 
says  side  by  side  we  look  like  a  clothes-pin 
and  a  clothes -pole,  and  we'll  have  every 
body  laughing  at  us." 

"  I'll  have  everybody  laughing  at  me," 
sobbed  Roxy,  her  voice  rising  to  the  sur 
face  again.  "They'll  say — I  don't  know 
what  they  won't  say !  And  that  spiteful 


THE   TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS  205 

Kitty !  And  oh,  Binns,  when  I'd  counted 
on  such  a  happy  home  !" 

"Mother  says  there  never  was  such  a 
tall  woman  in  the  family,"  growled  the  bass 
tones  again. 

"As  if  tallth  made  any  difference  in 
hearts !"  cried  Roxy,  very  reasonably. 

"  And  I  ain't  old  enough  to  go  and  be 
married.  And  I  don't  want  to  be,  either. 
I  never  said  yes,  hi,  or  no  about  it.  And 
when  I  don't  want  to  be,  I  don't  see — 

"Binns,"  said  Roxy,  solemnly,  "I  could 
sue  you  for  breach  of  promise  to-morrow  " 
— as  she  paused  an  inarticulate  rumble 
spoke  for  Binns's  shudder — "  if  I  was  so 
mean  as  some  folks,"  she  added. 

"Then  you  ain't  going  to,"  he  said. 
"  And  besides,  what  good  'd  it  do  you  ?  I 
'ain't  got  nothing." 

"  Your  mother  has,"  answered  Roxy,  with 
repeated  solemnity,  as  became  the  implied 
and  dreadful  threat,  which  again  gave  Binns 
pause.  "  But  I'd  scorn  it,"  said  Roxy,  after 
letting  the  idea  work  a  moment.  "  I  don't 
hold  my  affections  so  slight  that  any  mon 
ey —  Oh,  Binns  !  If  you  feel  too  young  to 


206  THE   TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS 

settle  yet,  and  want  to  have  your  fling  out, 
I'll  wait—" 

"There's  no  use  in  waiting,"  ejaculated 
Binns. 

"  That's  just  what  I  say,"  cried  Roxy,  in 
a  sudden  flush  of  hope  and  misinterpreta 
tion.  But  the  dead  silence  told  her  mis 
take.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  it's  all  off  ?" 
she  cried,  in  despair. 

"  It's  all  off,"  growled  Binns,  in  the 
boldness  of  desperation.  "  My  mother 
says-" 

"  Oh,  bother  your  mother !"  exclaimed 
Roxy. 

Perhaps  Binns  looked  aghast  at  such  a 
proposition,  for  she  added  at  once,  "  I 
mean — I  don't  mean  —  any  disrespect  to 
her.  But  I  never  knew  that  mothers 
could—" 

"  Mine  can,"  said  Binns,  comprehending 
the  hiatus,  and  still  under  the  impulse  of 
his  last  access  of  courage.  "  My  moth 
er  stood  by  me  when  I  couldn't  stand 
alone.  And  now  I'm  going  to  stand  by 
her." 

"  I  never  asked  you  not  to !"  cried  out 


THE    TRAGIC     STORY    OF    BINNS  207 

Roxy.  "  I'd  be  as  good  a  daughter  to  her 
as  any  she's  got.  I  know  she'd  like  my 
short-cake.  And  oh,  Binns,  it  would  have 
been  so  nice  and  cosey  for  you  when  you 
came  home,  and  I  had  onions  all  smother 
ing  in  the  spider,  and  there's  nobody  can 
fry  the  rind  any  crisper  than  I  can."  And 
at  this  juncture  a  rush,  a  stumble,  a  quick 
patter  of  footsteps,  might  have  been  heard, 
and  Binns  had  resorted  to  his  last  refuge, 
as  usual,  and  was  running  away  up  the 
street  and  out  of  sight  as  fast  as  his  little 
legs  could  carry  him.  And  Roxy  came  into 
the  house,  and  sat  down  by  the  kitchen 
window  in  the  moonlight,  and  cried  as  if 
she  were  doing  the  weeping  for  all  the 
disconsolate  damsels  in  the  world,  and  got 
up  and  found  herself  some  tarts,  and  ate 
them  with  a  relish,  feeling  in  every  mouthful 
that  Binns  would  never  have  those  tarts 
to-morrow,  and  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep. 

The  next  day  an  air  of  expectation  kept 
Roxy  all  alert,  and  her  hope  that  possibly 
Binns  had  run  home  to  ask  his  mother,  after 
all,  alternated  with  her  despairing  certainty 
that  she  should  never  see  him  again.  Oc- 


208  THE   TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS 

casionally  she  burst  forth  in  a  song  that 
showed  the  drift  of  her  thoughts : 

"  Go  ask  your  mother  for  fifty  cents 
To  see  Bill  Barnum  jump  the  fence," 

the  quickly  following  tears  obscuring  the 
rest  of  the  words  that  had  once  come  home 
with  her  from  a  circus.  But  the  despairing 
certainty  became  a  fixed  one  when  a  week 
passed,  and  the  long,  thin  young  man  still 
came  to  take  the  orders.  She  made  no  at 
tempt  at  pride  or  concealment.  She  tried  to 
do  her  work,  and  she  failed.  And  she  went 
away  at  last,  saying  her  heart  was  broken, 
and  she  could  live  no  longer  in  a  place  full 
of  cruel  associations. 

A  year  afterwards,  Roxy  having  been 
heard  of  as  established  in  another  home, 
and  paying  her  attentions  to  another  ob 
ject,  it  was  presumed  that  the  old  wound 
was  healed ;  and  her  former  mistress,  hap 
pening  to  meet  her  one  day  in  the  street 
car,  was  pleased  with  the  smiling  face  that 
towered  over  her  under  its  tall  hat  and 
scarlet  feather.  This  lady  had  what  she 
called  a  warm  interest  in  humanity,  but 


THE   TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS  209 

what  her  husband  was  daring  enough  to 
call  an  intense  curiosity,  and  the  unexpect 
ed  meeting  with  Roxy  inspired  her  with  a 
keen  desire  to  know  something  further  of 
the  tragic  story  of  Binns.  But  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  the  fateful  point,  and 
was  spared  the  trouble  by  Roxy  herself  ask 
ing  her  if  Binns  came  for  the  dinner  orders 
nowadays,  and  closing  the  brief  conversa 
tion  that  ensued  by  turning  a  melancholy 
eye  upon  her  former  mistress,  and  sighing, 
as  she  left  the  car, 

"  Oh,  it  hurts  there  still !" 

And  so  one  year  passed  and  another, 
and  the  world  rolled  over  on  its  sunny  side, 
and  rolled  over  again  on  its  dark  one,  and 
the  clouds  of  sorrow  broke  in  their  sad  del 
uge,  and  the  sun  burst  forth  again,  filling 
the  horizon  with  transformation,  and  new 
points  in  every  landscape  rose  in  brilliancy 
or  sank  into  shadow,  and  Roxy  was  one  of 
the  points  that  sank  into  shadow — the  shad 
ow  of  forgetfulness. 

It  is  a  singular  liability  we  have,'  after 
losing  sight  of  any  in  whom  we  have  had 
interest,  to  feel  as  if  they  remained  exactly 


210  THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS 

where  we  left  them,  heedless  of  the  way  in 
which  the  forces  of  the  universe  are  build 
ing  up  and  tearing  down,  and  of  the  fact 
that  fate  and  fortune  never  let  us  remain 
at  rest.  If  any  of  the  old  household  thought 
of  Roxy,  it  was  still  as  some  one's  kitchen- 
girl  laying  her  sieges  and  approaches  to 
an  unwilling  heart.  Is  not  Gladys,  in  our 
memory,  still  at  her  lattice  gazing  after  the 
cavalry  officer  ?  But  fate  and  fortune,  de 
spite  our  indifference,  were  conscious  of 
Roxy  as  an  integral  atom  of  the  great  cos 
mos,  and  in  the  interval  of  forgetfulness 
were  as  busy  with  her  as  with  any  other 
of  the  lovers  whose  loves  give  the  raison 
d'etre  to  the  universe. 

It  was  late  one  summer  afternoon,  a  few 
years  after  that  eventful  night  when  Binns's 
footsteps  had  been  heard  pattering  up  the 
street,  that  Roxy's  former  mistress,  having 
been  taken  by  her  liege  lord  on  a  little  tour 
of  their  native  county,  passed  slowly  along 
a  rural  lane,  some  dozen  miles  away  from 
home,  and  held  the  reins  while  her  husband 
paused  to  throw  back  the  top  of  the  phae 
ton,  looking  about  the  soft  afternoon  land- 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS  211 

scape  meanwhile.  On  one  side,  a  thick 
woodland  shut  off  the  view  and  the  easterly 
winds,  but  on  the  other  was  a  rolling  hill- 
country  broken  by  farms  and  orchards,  and 
just  at  hand  was  a  tiny  cottage,  with  open 
windows  and  blowing  curtains  that  allowed 
sight  of  the  interior  and  its  various  mottoes 
framed  upon  the  walls.  A  cow  grazed  in 
the  grass-plot  beyond ;  there  were  symptoms 
of  a  pig-sty,  and  a  decided  hennery  in  the 
rear  ;  and  there  were  lines  of  cabbages  like 
great  green  roses,  and  potatoes  and  onions 
and  beans  and  blushing  beet-tops,  and  a  hon 
eysuckle  and  a  rose-bush,  and  a  bed  of  sweet- 
peas  and  a  beehive,  and  a  gigantic  elm- 
tree  overtopping  everything.  What  a  picture 
of  content  and  comfort  it  was!  "What  a 
country  this  is,"  said  the  lady  in  the  phaeton, 
"where  the  poorest  can  have  such  a  peaceful 
home  as  this,  where  some  happy  young  farm 
er  has  brought  home  his  timid  little  wife, 
and  their  cares  are  few,  and  they  have  noth 
ing  to  regret,  and  little  left  to  wish  for !" 

Somebody  was  bustling  about  inside  the 
pretty  nest,  a  white  cloth  was  spread  upon 
the  table,  there  was  a  clatter  of  dishes,  and 


212  THE   TRAGIC    STORY   OF    BINNS 

then  there  stole  forth  an  odor — an  odor  of 
nectar  and  ambrosia  to  the  hungry  travel 
lers  a  dozen  miles  from  home — an  odor  of 
onions  smothering  in  the  spider.  Suddenly 
a  figure  appeared  at  the  side  window  beck 
oning  some  one,  a  tall,  an  immensely  tall 
and  gaunt  young  woman,  and  on  her  face, 
her  reddish  face,  with  its  snapping,  un 
paired  brown  eyes,  surmounted  by  a  wil 
derness  of  slate-pencil  crimps,  a  smile  that 
could  only  be  the  habitual  smile  of  perfect 
satisfaction.  "  Stop  a  moment,"  said  the 
lady  in  the  phaeton — "  one  moment.  Surely 
-  that  must  be  —  it  is  —  Just  then  the 
young  woman  sat  down  by  the  window,  and 
began  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  her  waiting 
with  music — nasal,  to  be  sure,  but  still  a 
familiar  tune.  "  Hark  !"  said  the  gentleman. 
"  Did  I  hear  a  bagpipe  ?" 

"  A  comb  and  paper,"  said  the  lady.  "  I 
wonder  if  she  keeps  it  still  in  the  drawer 
with  the  nutmegs?" 

I  don't  know  why  neither  of  that  guilty 
couple  cared  at  that  crisis  to  leave  the 
phaeton.  It  would  seem  natural  to  have 
delayed  a  little,  to  have  asked  some  ques- 


THE    TRAGIC    STORY    OF    BINNS  213 

tions,  to  have  tasted,  perchance,  the  con 
tents  of  that  redolent  dish,  to  have  learned 
if  there  are  any  in  the  world  to  whom  their 
very  wishes  give  them  not  their  wish,  to 
have  learned  if  cruel  fate  were  as  cruel  to 
any  in  the  fact  as  in  the  fear.  But  the  lady 
shrank  into  her  corner,  and  the  gentleman 
laid  an  urgent  hand  upon  the  reins,  and 
they  went  on  and  up  the  winding  road. 
Who  is  it  cares  to  see  the  struggle  of  the 
fly  in  the  web  ?  For  at  the  moment  that 
they  started  up,  as  if  for  the  capping  race 
at  Coulterlee,  there  appeared,  coming  slow 
ly  round  the  row  of  pole-beans,  the  person 
who  had  been  beckoned  —  a  little  scrap  of 
a  fellow,  stout  and  stocky  in  his  long  blue 
blouse,  pale-eyed,  red  -  headed,  freckled, 
holding  in  his  arms  a  teething  baby,  which 
he  soothed  with  a  monotonous  melody  as 
he  sang,  half  under  his  breath, 

"  If  I  had  minded  mother 

I'd  not  been  here  to-day  ; 
But  I  was  young  and  foolish, 
And  easy  led  astray." 

Unmistakably  it  was  Binns. 


A   COMPOSITE   WIFE 


A    COMPOSITE   WIFE 

WHEN  Mr.  Chipperley  lost  his  wife  he  was 
for  a  time  very  unhappy.  He  felt  a  little 
angry  when  he  saw  other  women  walking 
in  the  sunlight.  He  missed  the  flattery,  the 
affection,  the  object  of  love.  And  he  seemed 
to  think  all  that  furnished  him  with  suffi 
cient  reason  for  marrying  again,  which  he 
did  speedily.  He  lived  very  happily  with 
the  next  venture,  although  now  and  then  the 
pale  and  pretty  young  face  of  her  predeces 
sor  slipped  in  across  his  mental  vision  of  the 
other,  and  it  was  a  little  difficult  to  separate 
them.  And  when  a  third  young  woman  ruled 
his  affections,  it  was  an  effort  for  him  to 
say  if  it  were  May's  lower  lip  that  looked  as 
if  a  bee  had  stung  it,  or  if  it  were  Mary's 
upper  lip  that  had  the  Cupid's-bow  curves, 
or  if  it  were  Maria  that  smiled  with  the  deep 
Greek  corner  in  the  mouth ;  and  in  his 


2l8  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

memory  gleams  of  Mary's  eyes  shot  through 
May's  glance,  veiled  with  Maria's  long 
lashes.  May's  pale  cheek  wore  the  rose 
bloom  of  Mary's ;  the  outline  of  Mary's 
broad  brow  melted  into  the  oval  of  Maria's 
Madonna-like  forehead ;  and  in  this  com 
posite  memory  of  a  wife  May's  frown  and 
Maria's  smile  were  fast  becoming  indistin 
guishable  when  he  first  laid  eyes  on  Honor 
Humphreys,  who  overshot  the  whole  pict 
ure  with  her  great  shining  hazel  eyes  and 
black  brows,  her  full  red  lips,  and  the  fault 
less  teeth  that  flashed  with  white  light  in  the 
dark  countenance  where  the  rare  red  only 
now  and  then  blossomed — a  tall  and  superb 
young  creature,  whose  health  and  vitality 
and  lustre  completely  wiped  out  the  whole 
mental  photography  of  poor  May  and  Mary 
and  Maria. 

"  Gracious !"  said  Honor  to  her  gentle 
cousin,  Marian  Marcy.  "  Don't  talk  of  him  ! 
He's  married  all  to  pieces.  Do  you  suppose 
I  will  take  a  fragment  of  a  husband  ?  Am  I 
going  to  make  one  of  a  harem  ?  What  does 
papa  mean  ?  The  idea  of  my  marrying  an 
old  man  like  that !" 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 


219 


Poor  Mr.  Chipperley  was  only  forty-five, 
but  such  is  the  point  of  view  of  youth  that 
forty-five  was  all  the  same  to  her  as  one 
hundred  and  forty-five. 

"  I  don't  care  if  he  is  made  of  money !" 
cried  Honor.  "  He  looks  as  if  he  were — of 
old  bank-bills." 

"Old  bank-bills,"  said  Marian,  "  make  a 
slag,  you  know,  almost  as  splendid  as  pre 
cious  stones." 

"  He  hasn't  reached  the  slag  stage.  The 
fancy  of  his  daring  to  send  me  roses !"  as 
her  cousin  opened  for  her  a  box  that  had 
just  come  in.  "  Put  them  all  back  in  the 
box,  Maddy,  right  away ;  I  won't  touch  one 
of  them !" 

"  But,  Honor,  look  at  these  great  beau 
ties — an  armful— the  stems  more  than  half 
a  yard  long.  Why,  they  cost  a  dollar  and  a 
half  apiece,"  laying  one  with  its  soft  reflec 
tion  on  the  pale  oval  of  her  cheek. 

"  I  don't  care  if  they  cost  a  fortune  apiece. 
Wear  his  roses,  indeed !  I'd  rather  have  a 
green  leaf  of  Ted's  picking.  Here,  Pinky, 
take  them  away;  throw  them  out,  every  one !" 

"What    a   gorgeous    twenty -five- dollar 


220  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

breast-knot  Pinky  will  wear  with  her  best 
young  man  to-night." 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Chipperley  will  see  her  then. 
Make  haste  back,  Pinky;  you  must  have  the 
rose-red  chiffon  out  presently — there  !  I  de 
clare,  what  can  papa  be  thinking  of  not  only 
to  be  willing  I  should  accept  that  old  Mor 
mon,  but  to  want  me  to  !  Why,  I  might  as 
well  go  out  to  Utah,  where  they  drive  their 
wives  forty  abreast,  and  be  done  with  it !" 

"  But,  at  any  rate,  Mr.  Chipperley  has  the 
decency  to  drive  his  wives  tandem." 

"  No,  he  hasn't.  The  law  compels  him. 
Oh,  you  make  me  shiver !"  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  mock  shudder,  as  she  turned  over 
the  laces  and  ribbons  in  the  drawer  be 
fore  her.  "  The  idea  of  going  tandem  with 
three  ghosts !  Poor  ghosts — poor  dead  wom 
en  !  They  must  have  lost  all  identity  by 
this  time.  Mrs.  Chipperley — Mrs.  Theodore 
Chipperley — which  of  them— all  of  them— 
none  of  them  !  And  to  be  a  fourth,  and  put 
on  their  name  !  I  should  feel  that  I  was  put 
ting  on  their  shroud  !  Oh,  oh,  oh,  I  hate  the 
ground  he  walks  on  !" 

"  And  love  the  ground  Ted  dances  on." 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  221 

"  Poor  Ted  !  Poor  Ted  !  Oh,  Maddy, 
what  does  make  all  the  inequality  ?  That  hor 
rid  Chipperley  man  with  millions,  and  Ted, 
the  delightful,  the  original,  the  good,  the 
brilliant  Ted,  without  a  penny  to  his  name  1" 

"Mr.  Chipperley  has  been  brilliant  enough 
to  make  a  fortune." 

"  Well,  he  may  keep  it,"  smoothing  out  a 
Honiton  flounce.  "  I  don't  want  it." 

"As  if  you  could  do  without  a  fortune, 
Honor,  you  who  have  always  had  so  many 
luxuries  that  you  don't  know  what  the  ne 
cessities  are.  Look  at  that  flounce— 

"I  know  it.  I  should  never  have  an 
other  inch  of  real  lace  if  I  married  Ted. 
And — well — will  you  tell  me,  Maddy,  why 
Ted  doesn't  say  anything?" — her  face  the 
color  of  a  damask  rose — "  I  can't  ask  a  man 
to  marry  me — 

"  I  could,  if  need  were." 

"  You  !  Well,  for  a  demure  little  cat  that 
dares  to  look  at  a  king  you  would  take  a 
prize  in  a  tabby  show,"  said  Honor,  folding 
away  the  flounce,  and  leaning  both  round  el 
bows  among  the  rings  and  pins  of  the  toilet 
cushions,  while  she  looked  at  a  dark  and 


222  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

handsome  siren  in  the  glass.  "  I  shall  never 
forget,  Maddy,  how  you  went  and  took  your 
mother's  necklace  off  my  mother's  neck.  I 
think  that  did  papa  good  to  the  core  of  his 
heart.  And  when  mamma  got  over  being 
startled  she  always  rather  admired  you  for 
it.  Only  she  will  be  even  with  you  some 
day."  And  then  she  fell  to  tying  bows  and 
snipping  ribbons  with  twinkling  fingers.  "  I 
should  make  a  capital  milliner  if— oh,  if! 
Well,  Ted  does  everything  except  say  the 
word."  And  again  the  flood  of  color. 

"  How  can  he  say  the  word  ?  What  would 
he  do  with  a  wife?  Just  think,  Honor! 
Why,  he'd  be  a  wretch  if  he  did  speak  !  A 
man  with  no  more  possibilities  than  Ted 
and  with  so  many  attractions,  ought  not  to 
come  where  you  and  Helen  and  Teresa  and 
the  rest  are — you  butterflies  who  have  only 
fed  on  the  roses  and  lain  in  the  lilies  of  life." 

"Marian,  you  are  just  an  old  maid  — a 
puritanic,  conscientious,  cantankerous  old 
maid  !  There — don't  you  think  these  little 
lavender  and  mignonette  bows  add  to  the 
butterfly  appearance  of  this  particular  but 
terfly?" 


A   COMPOSITE   WIFE  223 

"  You  are  perfectly  hopeless,  Honor.  You 
forget  there  is  a  future.  You  just  dance 
in  the  beam  to-day.  Your  father's  interest 
in  the  Humphreys  estate  dies  with  him. 
It's  a  big  interest  to-day;  but  it  reverts  to 
the  co-residuaries,  and  all  his  children  in 
herit  is  the  nice  little  family  quarrel— that 
has  given  the  General  occupation  ever  since 
lawyers  and  surrogates  and  the  rest  ate  up 
the  whole  of  your  mother's  fortune — and  a 
parcel  of  most  expensive  tastes  and  habits. 
And  here  is  Mr.  Chipperley,  a  nice  young 
man — " 

"  Old  Chipperley  !"  dropping  the  scarf 
over  her  hair,  while  Marian  colored  and 
coughed. 

"Young — ah — comparatively,"  stammered 
Marian. 

"  Twice  my  age,  at  all  events,"  tying  the 
scarf  with  a  bewitching  knot. 

"A  worthy  gentleman!"  exclaimed  Mari 
an,  the  blush  still  enlivening  her  fair  cheek, 
"  against  whom  there  is  nothing  to  be  said, 
and  who  offers  an  ante-nuptial  settlement 
of  a  million  dollars.  And  you  have  been  out 
three  years,  and  have  let  Ted  keep  every 


224  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

eligible  man  away.  And  your  father  feels 
his  life  insecure — and  you've  all  lived  so  at 
the  top  of  the  wave  that  there  won't  be  a 
dollar  left  the  day  after  his  funeral — " 

"Marian  Marcy !"  turning  on  her  with  a 
diamond  stick-pin  in  each  hand.  "  How  can 
you  talk  so?  My  dear  old  father!  How 
can  you  be  so  indelicate — so,  so  cruel  ?'' 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  stab  me. 
I  am  not  cruel.  I  am  speaking  for  your 
good — " 

"Great  good  !"  with  half  a  sob  and  half  a 
laugh.  "  I  shall  have  a  hysteric  if  you  don't 
take  care !"  and  the  eyes  were  flaming  and 
the  teeth  flashing. 

"Have  twenty  if  you  want  to."  And 
Marian  stood  up  beside  her  and  looked  her 
in  the  face  with  steady  gray  eyes  that  had 
a  steely  point  behind  their  dewy  softness. 
"  When  it  comes  to  the  point,"  she  said,  "  and 
you  are  married  to  a  poor  man,  and  your 
mother  and  Helen  and  Teresa  and  the  boys 
are  homeless  and  penniless,  do  you  believe 
you  won't  regret  Mr.  Chipperley  ?" 

"  What  a  mercy  it  would  be,  Maddy,  if 
you  were  struck  dumb." 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  225 

Marian  laughed.  "  I'm  not  angry,"  she 
said,  "  because  your  temper  shows  that  you 
are  beginning  to  listen  to  reason.  You  mar 
ry  Ted  to-day,  and  have  a  happy  year  or 
two.  And  presently  you  are  shabby.  And 
presently  care  and  anxiety  about  making 
bricks  without  straw  have  taken  off  your 
bloom,  and  given  your  face  lines.  You  go 
nowhere — no  balls  and  dinners  and  operas 
for  you  with  nothing  to  wear.  You  grow 
irritable.  He  finds  other  places  pleasanter 
than  home.  He  reproaches,  you  cry.  You 
reproach,  he  goes  off.  And  you  are  more 
lucky  than  I  think  you'll  be  if  you  settle 
into  anything  like  tolerable  content  with 
him  at  last,  if  you  don't  leave  him  and  go 
off  and  earn  your  living  as  a  milliner  or  a 
lady's  maid." 

"  Marian  !" 

"But  you  marry  Mr.  Chipperley  —  you 
have,  possibly,  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour, 
regretting  a  handsome  face  and  a  dashing 
manner.  But  you  meet  with  absolute  devo 
tion.  You  tread  on  rose-leaves  and  eat  and 
drink  nectar  and  ambrosia,  and  wear  pur 
ple  and  fine  linen.  You  have  your  palaces, 


226  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

your  horses,  your  servants,  and  your  path 
through  life  is  a  perfect  milky-way  of  dia 
monds." 

"  I  never  knew  you  could  be  so  eloquent, 
Marian,"  with  sarcastic  seriousness. 

"  And  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  that 
you  become  accustomed  to  the  way  in  which 
your  husband  surrounds  you  with  sweet  ob 
servances,  and  you  are  grateful  to  him,  and 
have  a  friendly  feeling  for  the  rest  of  your 
life.  And  that  is  about  all  you  would  come 
out  on  in  the  end  if  you  had  married  your 
ideal." 

"  And  you  leave  out  all  the  companion 
ship,  the  oneness,  the — the — " 

"  Three  uncommonly  nice  women  have 
found  companionship  with  Mr.  Chipperley 
very  satisfying." 

"  Yes  ;  they  had  all  they  wished  of  it  early, 
and  left  for  parts  unknown.  Oh,  how  bored 
they  must  have  been  !" 

"  Bored  !    With  Mr.  Chipperley  !" 

"  I  believe  that  you  are  in  love  with  that 
man  yourself,  Maddy !" 

"Well,  now,  Honor,  I've  said  all  I  had 
to  say.  If  you  think  it  over  quietly,  and 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  227 

remember  that  all  this  time  Ted  hasn't  whis 
pered  a  word — 

"  Oh  yes,  he  has — whispered — a  plenty." 

"  He  hasn't  spoken  out." 

"  And  not  to  do  that  ?" 

"  Is  very  unmanly." 

"And  if  he  had?" 

"  It  would  be  very  scoundrelly." 

"  Marian  Marcy,  I'll  never  speak  to  you 
again !" 

"  Till  next  time,"  said  Marian,  as  she  left 
the  room.  "  There  !"  she  murmured,  her 
face  taking  on  more  than  its  usual  pallor,  as 
the  door  closed,  "  I  believe  I've  said  every 
word  my  uncle  asked  me  to  say." 

And  Honor  burst  into  tears,  tore  off  her 
lace  scarf,  and  hid  her  face  in  it,  and 
snatched  it  away,  conscious  in  the  midst 
of  her  trouble  that  every  tear  was  a  spot 
upon  the  ribbons,  and  sobbed  out  to  the 
image  of  herself  in  the  mirror  :  "  Oh  !  oh  ! 
I  am  so  afraid  I  shall  be  tempted  into 
marrying  Mr.  Chipperley  !"  And  she  rum 
maged  out  a  photograph  of  Ted  from  a 
chaos  of  sachets  and  beads  and  ribbons 
and  laces,  and  looked  at  it,  magnified  and 


223  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

haloed  through  the  mist  of  her  tears ;  and 
then  she  had  to  bathe  her  eyes  in  hot  water, 
and  then  in  cold,  and  to  powder  the  lids, 
and  to  pale  them,  by  comparison,  with  a 
little  rouge  upon  her  cheeks,  before  Pinky 
returned  and  clothed  her  in  the  gown  the 
color  of  the  heart  of  a  damask  rose,  in 
which  she  went  off  to  dinner,  where  she 
was  to  meet  Mr.  Chipperley,  who  hated 
the  color  of  the  heart  of  a  damask  rose. 

Mr.  Chipperley's  wives  had  all  been  pal 
lid  women,  dressing  in  pallid  colors.  One 
or  two  of  them  would  have  liked  to  wear  a 
grass-green  gown,  or  one  even  of  sea-blue ; 
one  more  daring  than  the  rest  had  appeared 
in  a  primrose-colored  silk,  but  it  aroused 
such  uncomfortable  remarks  that  she  only 
wore  it  once.  No ;  soft  grays  and  mauves 
were  the  only  wear  for  them ;  and  now 
when  their  likeness  rose  on  his  memory, 
the  fawns  and  drabs  of  their  garments  were 
the  only  distinct  thing  about  it.  Those, 
too,  as  delicate  eyebrows  had  merged  into 
dark,  positive  lines,  as  blue  eyes  had  be 
come  gray,  and  now  darted  forth  hazel 
gleams,  were  swiftly  suffusing  themselves 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  229 

with  deep  reds  and  dazzling  pinks  and 
glowing  purples.  And  he  felt  as  though 
he  had  forbidden  it,  and  May  and  Mary 
and  Maria  were  wearing  these  colors  in 
spite  of  his  expressed  will.  It  had  the  ef 
fect  of  unmarrying  him  more  than  any 
thing  else — more  than  death  itself;  and  he 
was  decidedly  displeased  with  himself  to 
find  that  he  was  more  wildly  and  passion 
ately  in  love  with  this  brilliant  creature  in 
her  burning  reds  and  yellows  than  he  had 
been  with  all  his  tender  little  pearl-gray  and 
indistinct  wives  put  together.  It  seemed 
to  Mr.  Chipperley  that  he  had  been  an  in 
distinct  man  himself  till  now ;  he  found 
himself  growing  to  the  measure  of  his  love ; 
he  had  had  to  stoop  before ;  now  he  must 
climb ;  this  gorgeous,  glowing  young  wom 
an  was  like  a  light  in  the  sky ;  one  must 
aspire  to  her,  not  stoop ;  that  was  a  new 
sensation.  She  spoke  of  politics,  and  the 
kingdoms  of  the  earth  made  new  combina 
tions,  and  the  destinies  of  nations  rearranged 
themselves.  She  talked  a  little  theosophy ; 
he  felt  this  world  enlarged  to  all  the  bor 
ders  of  the  vast  unknown.  She  spoke  of  a 


230  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

symphony,  he  entered  into  the  secrets  of 
music  that  he  had  not  dreamed  existed. 
She  sang,  and  he  heard  the  trumpets  on 
heaven's  ramparts  sound.  Yet  she  knew 
next  to  nothing  of  politics,  or  theosophy, 
or  music;  he  rose  only  to  the  demands  of 
his  imagination  concerning  her.  If  some 
times  the  exercises  were  a  trifle  wearisome, 
there  was  Marian's  gentle  denseness  to  fall 
back  on  and  find  restful. 

One  thing,  however,  concerning  Honor, 
he  had  not  yet  learned  to  explain,  and 
hardly  to  endure.  How  could  she  love  ani 
mals  in  the  way  she  did  ?  Four  great  Per 
sian  cats  haunted  her  every  footstep  in  the 
house ;  there  they  lay  on  their  cushions  in 
the  drawing-rooms,  in  the  music-room,  in 
the  library;  a  sleepy,  snowy  creature,  like 
some  half-animated  ostrich  plume;  a  sa- 
tanic  black  thing  with  fiery  eyes  that  to  Mr. 
Chipperley's  perception  were  informed  with 
the  very  bottomless  flames ;  another  like  a 
golden  fleece,  caressing,  half  human  ;  and 
a  little  mouse-colored  imp,  whose  bounds  and 
springs  and  feathery  tail-lashings  not  only 
did  infinite  damage  among  the  Venetian 


A   COMPOSITE    WIFE  231 

and  Dresden  knick-kriackerie,  but  among 
Mr.  Chipperley's  nerves.  And  Mr.  Chip- 
perley  hated  cats.  They  gave  him  nausea; 
they  made  him  sneeze ;  he  had  an  inde 
scribable  antipathy  to  them ;  he  was,  as 
Honor  said  to  Marian,  afraid  of  them.  He 
schooled  himself  to  lay  a  very  gingerly 
hand  on  the  white  one,  feeling  a  chill  up 
and  down  his  spine  as  he  did  so;  to  suffer 
the  yellow  one  to  rub  against  his  shoe,  al 
though  that  also  made  his  flesh  creep ;  he 
said  nothing  about  certain  scratches  given 
him  by  the  little  gray  Astarte  devil,  as  he 
called  it,  for  Honor's  eye  was  on  him ;  but 
when  the  black  Asmodeus  looked  him  in 
the  face,  Mr.  Chipperley  quailed.  Then, 
too,  there  was  a  great  buff-bodied  and  black- 
muzzled  mastiff,  and  a  spitz,  and  a  poodle, 
and  goodness  knows  what  else ;  a  parrot, 
an  owl  no  bigger  than  your  fist,  a  little  silk 
en  marmoset.  Sometimes,  when  Mr.  Chip 
perley  saw  her,  in  a  gown  the  hue  of  a 
pomegranate,  with  her  cats  in  her  arms  or 
on  her  chair,  and  her  dogs  fawning  around 
her,  he  had  a  moment  of  such  feeling  as  he 
might  have  had  were  she  Circe  and  he  anoth- 


232  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

er  lover  just  undergoing  the  enchantment, 
and  about  to  become  one  of  them  himself. 

"  Well,  if  s  of  no  use,"  Circe  had  said. 
"  He  admires  the  colors  he  hates ;  he  ca 
resses  the  cats  he  fears ;  he  loves  the  dogs 
he  detests.  It  does  look  as  if  he  were 
hypnotized.  Can't  I  undo  the  spell  ?" 

"  You  talk  like  a  silly  girl,"  said  her  fath 
er.  "  Mr.  Chipperley  does  you  the  honor  to 
make  you  a  proposal  of  marriage — " 

"  A  proposal  ?    Twenty  proposals  !" 

"  And  I  wish  you,  I  advise  you,  I  com 
mand  you  to  accept  it."  And  General 
Humphreys  looked  at  her  with  eyes  accus 
tomed  to  authority,  gleaming  from  the 
shadow  of  a  pair  of  brows  like  epaulets 
that  gave  a  military  force  to  his  glance. 
But  his  daughter  had  seen  that  glance  be 
fore,  and  knew  just  how  much  it  meant. 

"  The  Humphreys,  papa,"  said  the  young 
rebel,  "  have  not  been  in  the  habit  of  being 
commanded.  I  should  hardly  like  to  break 
the  family  traditions." 

"  You  are  a  disobedient  and  insolent 
girl !" 

"  Nor  have  the  Humphreys  been  bought 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  233 

and  sold  in  the  past — do  you  think  I  will 
be  the  first  one  placed  upon  the  market? 
I  wouldn't  marry  Mr.  Chipperley  if  he  were 
made  of  diamonds  and  set  in  the  sky !" 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  could  in  that 
case,"  said  her  father.  "  But  you  know, 
without  any  more  words  about  it,  what  the 
circumstances  are,  what  is  likely  to  become 
of  your  mother  and  the  rest  of  the  children 
at  my  death,  and  that  it  is  in  your  power, 
with  the  settlements  I  call  for,  to  make 
their  condition  all  that  it  has  been." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  sell  me  and  my  hap 
piness  for  their  ease  and  comfort.  It  is 
pleasant  to  know  which  you  care  for  the 
most.  It  leaves  me  quite  free.  No,  Mr. 
Papa  Humphreys,  you  needn't  promise  to 
deliver  what  you  can't  get  hold  of !  You 
will  have  to  go  very  long  indeed  on  this 
particular  block  !  I  heard  De  Puy  say  once 
it  was  a  good  plan  to  go  short  on  a  rising 
market!"  And  just  then  the  name  of  Mr. 
Theodore  Dane  was  announced,  and  the 
father's  eyes  flashed  fire  at  the  daughter, 
and  the  daughter's  eyes  flashed  fire  in  re 
turn,  and  cousin  Marian  was  not  the  only 


234  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

one  who  knew  how  much  Mr.  Theodore 
Dane  had  to  do  with  the  fortunes  of  Honor. 

"  Oh,"  said  Honor  to  Marian,  when  this 
conversation  and  struggle  with  her  father 
had  been  reported  and  summed  up  with 
her  mother's  dark  hints  that  her  supplies 
should  be  cut  off,  that  she  should  be  sent 
into  the  country,  or  shut  up  in  her  room  till 
she  promised  different  fashions,  and  bal 
anced  against  her  own  declaration  that  me 
diaeval  customs  were  impossible  in  this  Jin 
de  stick  period— "oh,"  said  Honor,  "if  I 
could  only  dress  you  in  my  clothes  and 
make  you  pass  for  me,  and  marry  you  off 
to  Mr.  Chipperley,  how  I  should  like  it !" 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  the  poor  Marian. 

"Marian  !  Could  you  really  endure  the 
thought  of  marrying  that  man,  for  one  in 
stant  ?" 

"  What  an  idiot  I  should  be  if  I  couldn't !" 

Honor  looked  at  her  a  moment,  large-eyed 
and  silent.  "  Marian  Marcy !"  she  cried, 
then,  "  you  shall !  You  shall  marry  Mr. 
Chipperley,  you  shameless  dear!" 

"  How  strangely  fate  moves,"  said  Honor 
to  her  mother  a  little  later.  "  Here  is  Ma- 


A   COMPOSITE    WIFE  235 

rian  Marcy,  pale  and  drab,  just  like  all  the 
women  he  naturally  prefers,  wearing  pale 
and  drab  gowns,  thinking  pale  and  drab 
thoughts,  doing  pale  and  drab  things — ex 
actly  the  one  Mr.  Chipperley  ought  to  mar 
ry  ;  she  would  melt  into  that  composite  wife 
of  his  without  a  wrinkle.  And  here  he  is 
possessed  to  marry  one  who  sets  all  his 
ideals  at  defiance,  whose  whims  and  ways 
would  eventually  drive  him  mad,  whose  col 
ors  would  startle  him  blind,  who  would  be 
as  much  a  blight  on  his  life  as  strong  sun 
on  tender  grass.'1 

"  I  never  heard  such  indelicate  and  im 
proper  remarks  from  a  young  girl's  mouth 
before.  Marian  think  of  marrying  Mr.  Chip 
perley  when  he  has  not  asked  her !" 

"  My  goodness  !  Oh,  my  goodness  !" 
cried  Honor,  teeth  and  eyes  flashing  out 
of  that  brown  face  in  one  dazzle  of  light 
along  with  her  ringing  laugh.  "  Oh  !"  she 
cried,  running  from  the  room,  "  if  I  die  the 
next  minute  I  shall  have  had  my  share  of 
satisfaction  !  I  mean  to  make  Marian  do  the 
one  thing  in  her  life  that  shall  be  neither 
pale  nor  drab  !" 


236  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

But  if  Marian  was  a  timid  and  conven 
tional  person  in  the  main,  she  had  more 
than  once  proved  herself  capable  of  rising 
to  the  occasion,  and  certainly  she  was  do 
ing  something  unusual  and  daring  when  un 
invited  she  took  Ted  Dane's  arm  one  night 
as  he  stood,  rather  dark  and  dour  in  the 
face,  leaning  against  a  window,  and  walked 
with  him  into  Mrs.  Roberts's  orchid-house. 
"  Oh,  there  is  Honor !"  she  said,  as  they 
paused  where  a  swarm  of  rosy  flower-but 
terflies  fluttered  in  their  faces.  "  Is  it  not 
wicked  that  such  a  girl  should  be  sacri 
ficed—" 

"Should  be  sold!"  said  Ted,  suddenly 
beaming  on  her,  with  his  blue  eyes  shining 
and  his  manner  for  the  first  time  showing:. 

O* 

as  he  bent  from  his  lofty  height,  that  here 
was  an  unexpectedly  delightful  person  in 
that  Humphreys  family.  "  It  is  infamous  !" 

"  I  dare  say  he  would  make  a  very  good 
husband." 

"  He  ought.  He  has  had  enough  experi 
ence  in  that  line." 

"  Then  I  should  think  he'd  see  how  very 
unfit  she  is." 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  237 

"Unfit?  For  that  beggar?  No,  no; 
Chipperley's  a  good  fellow — but  there's  no 
one  good  enough  for  her." 

"At  any  rate,  she  doesn't  love  him,"  hid 
ing  her  face  in  the  butterfly  flowers. 

"  She  doesn't  ?  Look  at  her,  then  !"  gaz 
ing  at  Honor  down  a  vista,  where  she  stood 
graciously  extending  her  hand  like  some 
young  queen,  with  Mr.  Chipperley  bending 
over  it  like  some  seigneur  swearing  fealty. 

"  Very  well.  They  are  obliging  her.  It 
isn't  worth  while  for  her  to  quarrel  with  a 
man  on  whom  she  may  be  forced  to  rely  for 
all  the  happiness  she  can  have." 

"  Forced  !     Who  can  force  her  ?" 

"Father,  mother,  a  whole  household. 
And  break  her  heart." 

"  Has  she  any  heart  ?"  biting  his  mus 
tache  as  if  he  meant  it  an  injury. 

"  Heart  ?  Honor  Humphreys  !  She — 
well,  you  are  the  last  person  to  deny  it !" 

"  I  ?     What  have  I  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"Oh,  certainly — if  you  have  been  mean 
ing  nothing" — frightened  into  the  propri 
ety  she  had  forsaken  in  her  desire  to  help 
both  Honor  and  herself. 


238  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

"Meaning  nothing?  I?  What  do  you 
mean  ?"  exclaimed  Ted,  suddenly  facing 
her.  "You  know  I  am  meaning  something! 
You  know  I  love  Honor  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul !  You  know  I  would  spend  my 
life  for  her !  You  know  I  haven't  a  dollar 
in  the  world — " 

"  I  know  she  loves  you,  whether  you  have 
a  dollar  in  the  world  or  not !"  And  the 
next  instant  Ted  Dane,  in  a  thoughtless, 
breathless  ecstasy,  had  clasped  Marian  to 
his  heart  for  one  swift  second.  On  such  an 
avowal  it  was  impossible  not  to  embrace 
some  one. 

"Oh,  Marian,"  he  said,  "you  are  the  best 
friend  a  man  ever  had." 

"  No,  no,  no !"  she  gasped,  pink  with  her 
blushes.  "  What  do  you  do  such  things 
for  ?  Oh,  I  am  sure  Mr.  Chipperley  saw 
you." 

"What  if  he  did?  What  do  I  care  for 
Chipperley?  Oh,  Marian,  you  have  made 
me  the  happiest  man  in  the  world  !"  And 
Mr.  Chipperley,  whom  some  dancing  fellow 
had  robbed  of  Honor,  saw  the  act  and  heard 
the  words,  as  he  came  down  the  orchid- 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 


239 


house,  and  noticed  for  the  first  time  that 
Marian  Marcy,  in  her  misty  toilet  of  laven 
der  satin  and  tulle,  was  really  a  most  attract 
ive  person  and  most  becomingly  dressed. 
He  knew  that  Marian  had  little  or  nothing 
of  her  own  except  her  mother's  jewels,  and 
that  it  was  owing  to  Honor's  determined 
insistence  that  she  had  everything  as  if  she 
were  a  daughter  of  the  house,  and  it  only 
made  Honor  seem  more  charming  still.  How 
well  that  young  woman  would  spend  a  big 
income,  with  what  generosity,  what  nobility  ! 

As  for  Ted,  when  Honor  had  finished 
that  dance  he  was  awaiting  her.  And  what 
took  place  out  in  the  grand  hall  where  two 
people  sat  on  the  pedestal  of  the  Psyche 
and  Eros  group,  in  the  broad  glare  of  the 
candles,  one  opening  and  shutting  her  fan, 
the  other  leaning  towards  her  eagerly  and 
taking  the  fan  into  his  own  hands  at  last, 
all  the  world  might  see,  but  only  two  of  all 
the  world  might  know. 

"  It  is  time,"  said  old  General  Humphreys 
to  his  daughter,  a  week,  perhaps,  after  that 
night,  "  that  Mr.  Chipperley  had  a  definite 
answer.  He  is  very  impatient.  Your  mother 


240  A   COMPOSITE    WIFE 

thinks  your  conduct  is  fast  becoming  scan 
dalous."  And  he  cleared  his  throat  and 
straightened  his  collar  in  preparation  for 
the  fray.  "  Yes,  fast  becoming  scandalous." 

"  She  will  think  it  is  quite  scandalous  be 
fore  I  am  through,  I  fear." 

"  I  can't  imagine  your  objection  to  a  man 
of  Mr.  Chipperley's  worth— 

"  Oh,  he  is  worth  too  much." 

"This  is  not  an  occasion  for  trifling, 
Honor." 

"  Well,  then,  the  chief  objection  is  that 
I  prefer  some  one  else,"  said  Honor,  care 
lessly  swinging  her  lorgnon. 

"  Some  one  else  !"  and  the  eyebrows,  like 
epaulets,  lifted  themselves  and  fell  again 
ominously. 

"  Yes.  I  presume  that  at  least  my  pref 
erences  are  my  own." 

"  May  I  ask  who  this  some  one  is  ?" 

"  How  can  I  hinder  your  asking,  papa  ?" 

"  Let  me  know  the  name  at  once !" 

"It  is  Theodore  Dane." 

"  Great  heavens  !"  cried  the  general.  "  A 
fellow  with  nothing  but  a  pedigree  !  A  man 
of  family  without  a  penny,  a  lawyer  with- 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  241 

out  a  brief,  an  idle,  dancing,  driving,  shift 
less—" 

"  I  wouldn't  talk  so,  papa,  about  a  man 
to  whom  you  may  by-and-by  stand  in  the 
relation  of  a  father,"  said  Honor,  calmly. 

"  Never  !  The  day  you  married  that  fel 
low  you  would  cease  to  be  my  daughter !" 

"  Nonsense,  papa ;  you  are  just  like  my 
mastiff  !  Old  Proudfoot's  bark  is  very  much 
worse  than  his  bite.  How  can  I  ever  cease 
being  your  daughter  ?"  And  then  she  had 
her  arm  about  the  old  hero's  neck.  "  You 
know  very  well,  papsy,  you  would  never  wish 
to  make  your  dear  unhappy." 

"No,  certainly,  no;  of  course  not,  no," 
disengaging  himself.  "  And  this  is  the  very 
reason  I  wish  you  to  marry  a  man  quite  suit 
able  in  himself,  and  who  can  indulge  all  your 
extravagant  tastes,  and  hinder  you  by-and- 
by  from  the  unhappiness  of  seeing  your 
mother  and  your  sisters  deprived  of  all  their 
gratifications  on  my  death." 

"  How  absurd,  papa  !  As  if  you  were  go 
ing  to  die  !  It's  perfectly  ridiculous  !" 

"  I'm  glad  you  find  it  so  amusing." 

"Hale  and  hearty  and  strong  and  good, 


242  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

Hvith  a  father  and  mother  that  lived  to  be 
ninety,  and  their  father  and  mother  before 
them.  I  won't  listen  to  such  talk  !  Besides, 
if  worse  came  to  worse,  mamma  and  the 
others  could  live  with  us.  We  shall  have  a 
home  of  some  sort — " 

"  Shall  ?" 

"  Yes,  we  shall  live  in  an  old  house  of  Ted's 
in  the  country — an  old  place  on  a  river — 
quite  a  place  once — and  had  such  lovely  gar 
dens.  He  will  come  into  town  to  his  office 
every  day,  and  I  shall  raise  asparagus." 

'4  You,  Honor  !"  he  groaned.  "  Do  you 
know  what  you  are  saying?  Is  it  all  cut 
and  dried  ?" 

"  Yes,  papa,"  she  said,  "  the  plan,  not  the 
asparagus."  And  again  she  made  the  move 
ment  to  imprison  him.  But  General  Hum 
phreys  caught  her  in  time,  and  held  her  off  at 
arm's-length,  looking  straight  into  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  can  talk  this 
way  without  a  blush — " 

"You  know  I  can't  blush,  papa.  I'm 
too  dark.  I  can  turn  purple,  if  you  want 
me  to." 

"  I've  as  good  a  mind  as  ever  I  had  to 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  243 

eat  to  call  in  a  justice  of  the  peace  and1 
marry  you  out  of  hand." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  she  exclaimed,  "  to 
Theodore." 

But  as  he  released  her  she  flung  herself 
upon  his  breast.  "  Papa,  papa  !"  she  cried. 
"  You  must  help  me  !  I  love  Ted— I  hate 
that  old  Mormon  !  And  oh — I  should  think 
you  would  find  it  such  fun  to  get  the  bet 
ter  of  mamma  —  and  you  remember  the 
traverse  she  worked  on  you  when  you  want 
ed  De  Puy  to  marry  Kate  Appleton,  and 
she  arranged  it  all  for  Henrietta  von 
Frump — " 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  has  to  do  with 
this  case.  Your  mother  has  much  the  best 
sense  of  all  of  us.  De  Puy's  has  turned  out 
a  very  comfortable  marriage,  if  he  is  a  little 
hen-pecked.  Yours — " 

"  Oh,  papa,  I  shall  simply  throw  myself 
in  front  of  the  train  if  you  make  me  mar 
ry  Mr.  Chipperley !  I  should  like  to  have 
some  identity  of  my  own.  Just  think  of 
my  being  a  band  of  sisters  with  those  three 
poor  ghosts  hovering  round  old  Chipper- 
ley  !"  And  as  the  ghosts  did  not  seem  to 


244  A   COMPOSITE    WIFE 

move  her  father,  she  had  resort  to  the  last 
argument— tears. 

"There,  there,  there!"  said  her  father. 
"  You  know  very  well  that  I  abhor  tears," 
taking  her  in  his  arms.  I — I  will  confess 
that  I  had  just  as  lief  let  your  mother  see 
that  I  had  a  will  of  my  own  as  not.  But 
the  fact  is,  you  will  be  a  pauper.  And  I  can't 
think  of  that." 

"  I  told  you,  papa,  that  we — that  Ted  has 
a  house.  It  will  be  the  greatest  pleasure 
in  the  world  to  make  it  habitable.  And 
you've  no  idea  how  profitable  my  aspara 
gus  beds  are  going  to  be." 

"  Honor !" 

"  Oh,  we  have  figured  it  all  out.  It's  a 
delightful  old  place.  Maddy  and  I  went 
out  to  see  it." 

"  Maddy — there's  another  thing.  What 
is  to  become  of  Marian,  as  well  as  all  the 
rest,  if  you  persist  in  this  course  ?" 

"Why  shouldn't  Marian  marry  Mr.  Chip- 
perley,  papa,  and  keep  the  money  in  the 
family  ?" 

"  Simply  because  he  doesn't  want  her." 

"  He  does.     She  is  just  and  exactly  the 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  245 

very  thing  he  wants.  Only  he  doesn't  know 
it  yet.  He  would  find  it  out.  For  Marian 
is  precisely  the  sweet,  pale,  quiet  nun  that 
would  make  him  feel  as  if  it  were  all  a  bad 
dream  that  he  had  ever  had  any  other  wife 
— as  if  they  were  all  nothing  but  different 
phases  of  one  woman.  He  is  bejuggled 
with  me  just  now,  but  oh,  he  would  so  re 
gret  it  in  a  little ;  my  canary  and  ruby  col 
ors  would  drive  him  wild,  and  he  wouldn't 
live  a  year  with  all  the  exactions  and  exas 
perations  that  I  should  bring  to  him.  Can't 
you  reason  with  him,  papsy  ?" 

"  I  could  reason  with  him  a  great  deal 
better  than  I  could  with  your  mother." 

"  Well,  we  won't  try  to  reason  with  mam 
ma.  I've  heard  you  say  many  a  time  that 
she  never  would  hear  reason.  Of  course 
you  know,  darling,  I'm  not  doing  anything 
imprudent.  Ted  is  only  waiting  for  Mr. 
Lorton  to  come  home  to  have  his  appoint 
ment  as  attorney  to  the  Creamery  Trust, 
with  a  salary  of  I  don't  know  how  many 
thousand  a  year ;  and  a  family  that  can't  live 
on  that  ought  to  starve.  And,  besides,  that 
is  only  a  beginning.  When  people  see  what 


246  A   COMPOSITE    WIFE 

Ted  is  the  big  cases  will  come  in,  and  we 
shall  have  an  income  to  astonish  you.  That 
ought  to  content  mamma.  And  it  isn't  as  if 
Helen  and  Teresa  wouldn't  marry.  Now, 
Papa  Humphreys,  you  are  an  old  soldier, 
you  named  me  Honor  because  Honor  was 
the  dearest  thing  on  earth  to  you.  And 
I'm  not  going  to  ask  you  to  do  a  living 
thing  contrary  to  your  principles,  only  to 
take  mamma  on  a  little  journey,  to  Washing 
ton  or  to  New  Orleans  —  anywhere.  You 
press  that  button,  and  I'll  do  the  rest." 
And  it  was  at  the  end  of  a  delightful  half 
hour  that  Mrs.  Humphreys  found  Honor 
sitting  on  her  father's  knees,  all  smiles  and 
tears  and  tangles. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Humphreys, 
"from  the  appearance  of  things,  that  your 
good  sense  has  come  to  the  rescue,  my 
child.  Of  course,  Mr.  Chipperley's  fortune 
is  our  last  consideration.  It  is  himself,  his 
intelligence,  his  breeding,  his  goodness  that 
we  think  calculated  to  make  you  happy. 
But  it  is  outside  of  the  possibilities  that  a 
young  girl  should  refuse  the  settlements  he 
offers-" 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  247 

"  Well,  mamma,"  said  Honor,  moving 
from  her  pleasant  seat  and  twisting  up  her 
hair,  "  I  give  you  fair  warning  that  when 
I  marry  Mr.  Chipperley  I  will  not  accept  a 
settlement  of  any  sort." 

"  My  child  !" 

"  No.  No  man  shall  think  I  marry  him 
for  his  money." 

"  But,  Honor,  what  an  absurd,  high-flown 
notion  !" 

"  No  matter,  mamma.  I  give  you  my 
ultimatum.  If  you  want  me  to  marry  Mr. 
Chipperley,  no  settlement,  no  gifts,  not  a 
ring,  not  a  flower.  And  you  may  tell  him  so." 

"  Humph !  I  suppose  he  can  give  it  to 
you  afterwards,  just  the  same.  But  I  must 
say  it  is  the  most  quixotic  nonsense — 

"  Never  mind  about  that.  You  are  will 
ing  to  sell  me — but  I  have  some  rights, 
some  feelings  —  I  will  arrange  the  terms 
myself  !"  And  she  swept  out  of  the  room. 

"  Well,"  said  her  mother  to  the  old  gen 
eral,  who  stared  confused,  not  quite  accom 
modating  his  ideas  to  Honor's  words,  but 
keeping  a  wise  silence  in  the  presence  of 
his  superior  officer,  "  I  am  so  glad,  so  re- 


248  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

lieved  that  she  consents  at  all,  that  I  will 
say  no  more  at  present.  You  had  best  see 
Mr.  Chipperley  at  once,  and  give  him  to 
understand  that  she  must  be  approached 
most  delicately." 

"  My  love,  you  would  do  all  that  much 
better  yourself  —  a  man's  blundering  blud 
geon — your  dainty  rapier — " 

"  Very  well,  then ;  leave  it  all  to  me," 
said  Mrs.  Humphreys,  with  great  good- nat 
ure.  And,  satisfied  that  events  were  shap 
ing  to  her  mind,  she  wrote  a  note  summon 
ing  Mr.  Chipperley,  and  when  he  came  she 
gave  him  to  understand  that  at  last  his  suit 
was  accepted,  but  that,  in  fact,  as  some  one 
in  Shirley  said  of  all  women,  Miss  Honor 
was  very  kittle-kattle,  and  there  must  be  no 
mention  of  gifts  or  settlements,  or,  in  fact, 
of  the  understanding  itself.  "  My  daughter 
is  exceedingly  sensitive,  and  the  idea  that 
it  might  be  thought  your  wealth  was  a  fac 
tor  in  this  happy  conjunction — " 

"  Oh,  precisely,  exactly,"  said  the  de 
lighted  Mr.  Chipperley.  "  I  understand,  I 
understand,"  and  did  not  understand  in  the 
least. 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  249 

Poor  Mr.  Chipperley !  It  was  not  really 
a  blissful  period  to  him  that  followed  this 
rather  peculiar  betrothal  in  which  the  bride 
had  given  no  promise,  signified  no  assent, 
and  expressed  no  feeling.  He  would  have 
liked  to  press  that  hand  of  hers,  but  it  was 
snatched  away  before  he  had  more  than 
icily  touched  it.  He  would  have  liked  to 
drop  the  opera-cloak  on  those  lovely  shoul 
ders,  but  that  officious  Ted  Dane  was 
allowed  to  be  before  him.  He  longed  to 
fold  his  arms  about  her  and  press  one  kiss 
upon  those  luscious  lips — he  would  as  soon 
have  offered  such  a  familiarity  to  the  Tint 
ed  Venus.  When  he  saw  her  at  a  charity 
concert,  playing  on  the  violin,  looking  like 
one  of  Fra  Angelico's  angels,  in  a  long  red 
gown,  spangled  with  golden  stars,  with  the 
loose  sleeves  falling  open  over  an  arm  fit 
for  a  tawny  young  Cleopatra,  he  wanted  to 
cry  out  to  all  the  world,  "  She  is  mine  !  She 
is  mine  !"  But  you  would  have  thought  she 
had  never  seen  him  before.  All  the  same, 
he  was  quite  positive  that  when  she  was  his 
wife,  fast  and  sure,  she  should  never  wear 
a  red  gown  again.  In  this  red  gown  she  was 


250  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

so  unlike  his  dreams,  so  brilliant,  so  over 
powering,  so  effacing,  that  she  gave  Mr. 
Chipperley  the  singular  sensation  of  being 
unfaithful  to  a  wife  ;  he  felt  as  if  there 
really  was  something  unlawful  in  his  passion, 
and  it  was  far  from  being  agreeable  to  him. 
"  It  it  were  anything  but  herself,"  he 
thought,  "  I  should  declare  that  gown  could 
be  worn  only  by  the  Scarlet  Lady.  It  puts 
out  a  man's  sight.  It  almost  puts  out  his 
love.  How  much  more  womanly,  how  much 
fairer  and  softer  that  silvery  thing  her  cou 
sin  wore — a  very  sweet  woman,  that  Marian 
Marcy.  I  must  really  speak  to  Honor  about 
her  vivid  toilets.  As  for  the  gentle  cousin, 
she's  altogether  too  nice  to  waste  on  Ted 
Dane  !  *  A  creature,  not  too  bright  or  good 
for  human  nature's  daily  food.' "  And 
then  vaguely  and  obscurely  Mr.  Chipperley 
thought  what  a  pity  it  was  that  a  man 
might  not  marry  two  women  at  once. 

Somehow  or  other  Marian  Marcy  was 
always  in  the  room  now  when  Mr.  Chipper 
ley  was  admitted  to  the  presence.  It  was 
not  so  much  of  an  effort  to  follow  Marian 
as  he  had  found  it  to  keep  up  with  Honor's 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  251 

flights  and  vagaries ;  she  soothed  him  after 
the  attempt ;  she  always  agreed  with  him  ; 
and  he  felt  with  half  an  uncertain  sigh  that 
Ted  Dane  was  going  to  have  a  very  restful 
person  for  a  wife. 

"  Mr.  Lorton  has  returned,  and  we  are 
talking  of  their  domino  party,"  said  Honor. 
"  A  wilderness  of  flowers  and  Seidl's  or 
chestra.  Maud  Van  Wieck  is  going  as 
Catherine  de'  Medici,  and  Rose  as  Cather 
ine  of  Russia,  and  Belle  Devers  as  Cather 
ine  of  Aragon — " 

"  And  you  ?"  said  Mr.  Chipperley. 

"We  thought  first  of  Petrucio's  Kather- 
ine  and  Camoens's  Catharina — " 

"  '  Sweetest  eyes  were  ever  seen,'  "  quot 
ed  he. 

"  And  then  of  Iris  and  Charmien,  pearls 
and  asps,  and  all  that,  you  know.  But  it's 
too  much  trouble.  We  will  go  just  in  our 
brown  dominos." 

"  *  I'll  wear  my  brown  gown,  and  never 
dress  too  fine,'  "  quoted  Marian. 

"  Yes,  we  will  just  go  in  our  brown  dom 
inos.  That  is  exactly  the  way  I  should 
like  to  be  married,"  Honor  said,  suddenly, 


252  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

looking  up  with  a  flash  of  eyes  and  teeth. 
"  No  fuss,  no  feathers,  no  company,  no 
cards.  Just  Ted  and  you  and  Marian  and 
I,  all  at  one  time,  all  our  own  witnesses — 
stealing  out  from  the  ball,  going  to  the  min 
ister's,  and  going  our  own  way  afterwards  !" 

"  It  would  be  admirable  !"  cried  Mr. 
Chipperley.  "  It  is  one  of  your  brilliant 
thoughts.  No  need  of  waiting  for  parapher 
nalia  ;  that  can  be  had  in  Paris.  A  hand-bag 
in  the  carriage,  and  over  to  the  Utopia's 
dock  directly  afterwards ;  she  sails  at  sun 
rise  that  night — I  mean  morning." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  it,  Ted  ?"  asked 
Marian,  as  that  young  man  joined  them. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  whatever  Mr.  Chipperley  thinks 
best." 

And  to  Mr.  Chipperley  it  seemed  that  he 
was  about  to  enter  a  charming  family,  where 
even  the  remote  cousins  were  so  engaging. 

"  A  capital  notion,"  said  Ted.  "  For  of 
all  things  to  be  dreaded  the  marriage  cere 
mony  is  chief.  If  one  could  take  ether 
now,  or  nitrous  oxide,  and  wake  up  ancj 
find  it  all  over — " 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  253 

"  Pshaw !"  said  Mr.  Chipperley,  before 
he  thought,  "  it's  nothing  at  all,  nothing  at 
all." 

Still,  Mr.  Chipperley  was  not  displeased 
with  the  anticipated  privacy  and  quietness. 
For,  feel  as  you  may,  the  world  will  have  a 
little  fun  over  a  man's  fourth  nuptial.  And 
then  the  elopement-like  process  gave  a  color 
of  poetry  to  the  affair  which  it  otherwise 
lacked.  When  they  parted,  Mr.  Chipperley 
made  haste  to  send  his  berth- trunk  and 
steamer-chairs  and  rugs  on  board  the  Uto 
pia,  and  to  secure  the  best  state-room  to 
be  had  for  money,  and  Ted  to  see  about 
the  licenses  and  the  minister.  It  gave  Mr. 
Chipperley  a  jolly  feeling  of  being  young 
and  rash  and  reckless  and  romantic. 

"  I  shall  wear  my  glory  gown,"  said 
Honor,  when  she  and  Marian  were  alone. 
"  It  will  stun  him  out  of  his  wits  when  I 
open  my  domino.  You  have  the  hardest 
part,  Marian.  Oh,  how  I  pity  you  !" 

"You  needn't,"  said  Marian,  quietly.  "I 
am  equal  to  it." 

"  But  you  dread  it— just  a  little." 

"  Just  a  little.     I  would  rather  not,  if  it 


254  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

could  be  arranged  in  any  other  way.  But 
I  sacrifice  myself,"  she  said,  with  a  quiet 
laugh,  "to  my  aunts  and  cousins." 

"  Marian,  to  say  you  are  a  trump  is  to 
say  nothing  at  all.  You  are  a  whole  straight 
flush  !" 

The  day  before  the  Lortons'  domino 
party  Mrs.  Humphreys  saw  two  of  Honor's 
trunks  taken  down  on  an  expressman's  back 
before  her  very  eyes,  under  the  supposition 
that  they  were  either  Pinky's  or  her  own 
packed  for  the  Washington  trip  with  the 
General,  which  her  cold  had  deferred.  An 
other  trunk  was  sent  later  from  the  house 
of  the  Humphreys  to  the  steamer.  And  it 
wanted  hardly  a  couple  of  hours  to  sunrise 
when  Ted  and  Mr.  Chipperley,  with  two 
dominos  masked  an  mcrveil,  left  the  Lor 
tons'  lights  and  flowers  and  music,  entered 
the  coach  in  waiting,  and  drove  across  to 
the  Church  of  St.  Peter-cum-Paul. 

There  was  but  a  dim  and  solitary  light 
burning  at  the  altar.  The  rector,  who  had 
been  napping  in  his  study,  was  hardly  more 
than  half  awake  now.  He  examined  the 
licenses  perfunctorily,  and  hurried  through 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  255 

the  service,  as  he  had  been  begged  to  do, 
as  if  he  were  expecting  a  policeman  to  in 
terrupt  him.  For  the  first  time  Mr.  Chip- 
perley  took  with  permitted  tenderness  the 
hand,  he  thought,  that  he  had  so  often 
longed  to  take.  Joyful  moment  when  it  re 
turned  the  pressure,  when  he  heard  a  whis 
pering  voice  in  the  responses,  when  those 
swift  and  sleepy  tones  pronounced  them 
husband  and  wife.  He  hastened  down  the 
dusky  aisle  with  a  trembling,  clinging  shad 
ow  beside  him.  Ted  delayed  a  moment  or 
two  for  the  certificates,  following  with  the 
other  domino,  and  then,  the  curtains  of  the 
carriage  closely  drawn,  they  drove  through 
the  gray  morning  twilight  of  the  empty 
streets  that  seemed  to  belong  to  some  other 
life,  breathless,  wordless,  over  the  ferry  and 
to  the  pier. 

The  gray  was  growing  silver  on  the  silent 
water  as  they  crossed.  A  star  was  melting 
back  into  the  light  like  a  pearl  dissolving 
in  a  cup  of  gold.  Suddenly  a  ray  lit  all  the 
mast-heads  and  tipped  them  every  one  with 
fire.  And  it  was  in  that  moment,  as  they 
stood  on  the  deck,  that  Honor  flung  open 


256  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

her  domino  and  let  the  sunshine  kindle  all 
the  radiance  of  her  glory  gown— a  sheen 
of  satin  of  an  intense  yellow,  embroidery 
of  gold-thread  rippling  all  over  it  in  lines 
of  lustre,  the  breast,  the  throat,  the  hair, 
the  waist,  a  blaze  of  deepest  tinted  Spanish 
topazes,  with  here  and  there  a  ruby.  So 
dark,  so  rich,  so  splendid  in  the  full  light, 
the  brown  skin,  the  great  luminous  eyes, 
the  flash  of  the  laughing  teeth— Ted's  heart 
stood  still  as  he  glanced  at  her  and  looked 
away  and  glanced  back,  finding  it  hard  to 
believe  he  was  awake,  that  he  saw  her,  that 
she  was  his. 

But  it  was  with  no  such  eyes  that  Mr. 
Chipperley  beheld  her.  That  yellow  gown 
—  it  should  be  food  for  fishes  as  soon  as 
they  were  in  deep  water !  Those  burning 
topazes  and  rubies— he  was  very  tired  from 
want  of  sleep,  from  hurry,  from  uncertainty, 
from  emotion  —  they  forced  his  eyes  open 
and  pinned  the  lids  back !  As  she  stood 
there,  for  one  swift  second  she  seemed  to 
Mr.  Chipperley  an  embodiment  of  the  sin 
of  the  world. 

And  he  was  bound  hand  and  foot  at  the 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  257 

chariot  of  the  blazing  creature.  He  saw  in 
stinctively  that  he  would  never  be  master 
again.  The  three  Mrs.  Chipperleys  rose 
wavering  before  him,  wringing  their  hands 
and  vanishing  into  thin  air.  He  felt,  while 
he  gasped  and  tried  to  collect  himself,  that 
he  should  like  to  go  to  sleep  and  never 
wake. 

But  Marian  also  had  thrown  off  her  dom 
ino  and  mask,  and  she  stood,  in  a  soft 
moonlight-colored  velvet,  a  shawl  of  white 
blond  lace,  pinned  on  her  blond  hair,  falling 
about  her  like  a  veil  while  she  gazed  at  him. 
"  Ah,  now,"  thought  Mr.  Chipperley,  "  she 
looks  like  a  bride,  she  does.  But  that  yel 
low  abomination !  Why,  Ted  Dane  was 
right  when  he  said  of  her  once  she  dazzled 

O 

when,  the  sun  is  down  and  robs  the  world 
of  rest.  She's  about  to  rob  my  world  of 
rest!" 

But  all  this  was  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye — intuition,  not  thought — while  Marian 
was  hanging  her  domino  over  her  arm  and 
Honor  was  folding  hers  about  her  again,  as 
people  came  hurrying  by,  and  the  confusion 
of  starting  became  noticeable;  no  one  paus- 


258  A   COMPOSITE   WIFE 

ing  to  think  twice  of  a  gay  party  accustomed 
to  going  and  coming,  who  had  hastened  on 
board  in  their  ball  dresses. 

"  Well,  Marian,"  said  Ted,  "  here  is  your 
certificate.  No  ;  this  is  Honor's  and  mine. 
You  will  find  it  all  right,  Mr.  Chipperley. 
Honor  and  I  will  be  thinking  of  you  in  these 
moonlight  nights  as  you  go  parting  the 
smooth  seas.  You'll  be  quite  in  time  for 
the  carnival.  You  have  helped  us  in  a  way 
not  to  be  forgotten,  ai*l  we  —  we  —  Honor 
and  I  —  shall  always  associate  you  -with  the 
happiness  of  our  lives." 

"I  —  who  —  what  —  what  is  this  ?"  stam 
mered  Mr.  Chipperley,  hearing  Ted's  voice 
like  a  voice  in  a  dream,  and  at  the  same 
time  looking  over  Marian's  shoulder  at  the 
scroll  of  paper  she  unfolded.  "  Theodore 
Chipperley  —  Marian  Marcy.  There  is  a 
mistake  here.  There — 

"  No,  no,"  said  Ted,  calmly.  "  Nothing 
of  the  sort.  No  mistake.  That  would  be 
impossible.  I  have  married  Honor  and 
you  have  married  Marian,  just  as  we  in 
tended.  We  could  never  have  overcome 
Mamma  Humphreys  if  you  hadn't  entered 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  259 

so  fortunately  into  our  scheme.  It's  of  no 
use  to  try  and  thank  you  ;  we  can't.  There 
go  the  last  people  off  —  there  isn't  a  mo 
ment — good-bye,  good-bye  !"  There  was  a 
hurried  shaking  of  hands,  a  hurried  em 
brace  of  Marian  and  Honor,  and  Ted  and 
one  of  the  dominos  were  on  the  pier  waving 
farewells,  and  the  Utopia  was  slowly  sliding 
seaward. 

For  an  instant  Mr.  Chipperley  stared  at 
them,  at  Marian,  at  sky  and  water,  all 
aghast,  and  then  his  eye  rested  on  Marian 
again  in  her  soft  pearl  color  and  lace,  and 
in  the  midst  of  the  whirl  in  his  brain  the 
words  of  an  old,  old  lover  came  back  to 
him:  "And  her  eyes  are  doves."  Yes,  her 
eyes  were  doves.  And  then  he  was  caught 
in  a  wild  revulsion  of  feeling,  a  sense  of 
having  cast  off  a  gyve,  a  sense  of  having 
come  home  into  peaceful  twilight  after  long 
revel  and  riot,  with  thick  wines  honey  sweet, 
flowers,  and  burning  sunshine  among  Circe's 
beasts.  He  remembered  the  reds  and  yel 
lows,  the  mastiff,  the  spitz,  the  poodle ;  no 
more  treading  on  a  soft  fur  in  the  dark 
hall,  and  having  it  turn  and  rend  you; 


260  A    COMPOSITE    WIFE 

no  more  sitting  down  on  some  softly-cush 
ioned  seat,  and  hearing  a  yell  and  a  snarl 
from  the  cushion  ;  no  more  tracing  of  re 
semblances  between  yourself  and  a  marmo 
set ;  no  more  starts,  no  more  dazzles,  no 
more  nips  from  the  paroquet,  no  vociferation 
of  canaries,  no  staring  out  of  countenance 
from  the  owl,  no  menagerie  in  his  house,  no 
mother-in-law,  with  her  courtship  that  al 
ways  seemed  to  mask  an  assault!  He  took 
Marian  by  the  hand  and  led  her  into  her 
state-room.  "May,"  he  said,  "Mary — I  beg 
your  pardon — Maria — I  mean  Marian!  you 
have  made  a  great  sacrifice  for  me.  You  have 
perhaps  saved  me  from  a  great  unhappiness. 
Let  me  recover  my  equipoise,  and  the  de 
votion  of  a  lifetime  shall  repay  you.  You 
knew  me  better  than  I  knew  myself.  I  was 
benumbed  !  I  was  bewitched  !  I  was  blind  ! 
It  may  take  me  a  little  time  to  get  that 
other  image  out  of  my  mind,  but  I  shall  do 
it — it  had  not  become  a  habit.  Be  patient, 
and  you  shall  find  a  tender  husband.  Great 
powers !  to  think  that  I  might  have  yield 
ed  to  that  sort  of  temptation,  and  been  dis 
turbed,  wearied,  wretched  for  life  !  I  thank 


A    COMPOSITE    WIFE  261 

Heaven  for  your  wisdom  and  courage  that 
rescued  me.  You  could  never  have  done  it 
if  you  had  not  loved  me.  I  thank  Heaven 
that  you  are  Mrs.  Chipperley!"  And  May's 
smile  played  around  Marian's  mouth,  and 
Marian's  eyes  looked  up  with  Mary's  gentle 
imploration,  and  echoes  of  Maria's  voice 
fluted  in  Marian's  tone,  and  Marian's  lips 
trembled  with  a  kiss  he  had  known  before, 
and  Mr.  Chipperley,  with  a  deep  and  quiet 
satisfaction,  felt  again  that  he  had  never 
been  a  widower. 


MR.  VAN    NORE'S    DAUGHTER 
IN-LAW 


MR.   VAN   NORE'S   DAUGHTER-IN- 
LAW 

THE  Van  Nores  were  present  at  the  crea 
tion  of  the  world.  Some  people  say  they 
made  it;  but  one  really  knows  better  than 
that.  If  it  had  not  been  for  their  unac 
countable  belief  that  the  builder  of  the  ark 
that  rested  on  Mount  Ararat  was  a  Jew,  and 
their  unutterable  contempt  for  the  race  of 
Spinoza  and  Mendelssohn,  of  Heine,  Auer- 
bach,  and  Disraeli,  to  mention  no  greater, 
they  would  not  have  hesitated  to  conceive 
that  the  family  name  of  the  Patriarch  was 
Van  Nore. 

At  any  rate,  you  may  understand  that  the 
Van  Nores  were  an  immensely  ancient  fam 
ily,  so  old  as  to  be  really  worm-eaten.  In 
the  dust  of  the  Van  Nores  there  were  soldiers 
and  statesmen,  and  even  a  less  regarded 
author  or  two.  In  this  century  there  was 


266    MR.  VAN    NORE'S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

nothing  at  all  to  speak  of.  If,  however,  any 
one  says  their  family  tree  was  like  one  of 
those  old,  wide,  and  deep-rooted  fir-trees 
sometimes  seen,  with  but  a  single  gnarled 
and  lichened  branch  left  of  all  its  forest 
glory,  the  best  part  of  it  underground,  you 
can  see  that  the  person  is  no  friend  of  the 
Van  Nores,  but  one  whose  eyes  have  been 
hurt  by  the  dazzle  of  their  splendor,  who 
has  been  forgotten  at  their  banquets,  looked 
at  with  a  stony  glare  upon  the  street,  or 
possibly  knocked  down  and  bruised  and  ig 
nored  by  their  fast  horses. 

Being  immensely  ancient,  immensely  dis 
tinguished,  and  also  immensely  wealthy,  it 
goes  without  saying  that  the  Van  Nores 
thought  immensely  well  of  themselves. 
They  never  soiled  their  garments  by  con 
tact  with  the  crowd ;  they  bought  their  pict 
ures  and  statues  straight  from  the  manu 
facturers  before  they  had  been  profaned  by 
the  vulgar  gaze ,  they  would  have  liked  the 
gold  they  spent  cast  with  a  Van  Nore  de 
vice,  and  the  die  broken.  They  could  not 
hope  to  keep  all  the  knowledge  in  the  uni 
verse  to  themselves ;  but  they  did  not  care 


MR.  VAN    NORE  S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW     267 

so  much  for  that — there  were  always  tu 
tors  and  chaplains  to  be  had,  after  the 
custom  of  certain  of  the  South  Sea  Isl 
and  chiefs,  who  maintain  a  Fila-oma  or 
Talking  Man  of  Knowledge.  If,  once  in  a 
while,  they  allowed  themselves  to  come  be 
fore  the  public  in  a  matter  of  suffrage,  it 
was  not  altogether  without  the  sensation  of 
some  wicked  scribe  who  has  written  the 
Sacred  Name  with  unwashed  hands  ;  and, 
being  usually  defeated,  they  relapsed  into 
a  more  profound  contempt  of  the  people 
than  before,  and  talked  glibly  of  the  ad 
vantages  of  a  monarchy,  although  not  with 
out  an  undercurrent  of  feeling  that  in  the 
event  of  a  monarchy  the  Van  Nores  would 
be  monarchs.  They  intermarried,  of  course, 
only  with  families  of  a  pedigree  and  assump 
tion  one  degree  less  than  —  it  could  not  be 
more  than,  and  could  hardly  be  equal  to— 
the  Van  Nores. 

Judge,  then,  of  the  bewildered  and  amazed 
wrath  of  the  Van  Nore  family  when  the  son 
of  the  house,  the  heir  of  the  name,  the  last 
of  the  name,  the  only  male  Van  Nore  left 
to  go  down  the  ages  with  the  weight  of  the 


268     MR.  VAN    NORE  S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

family  illustriousness  upon  his  shoulders, 
married  a  young  girl  in  the  West,  unknown, 
obscure,  poor,  and  a  Jewess ! 

Nore  Van  Nore  had  a  sister  older  than 
himself — a  dark  and  imposing  creature 
with  the  Van  Nore  nose.  He  had  a  sister 
younger  than  himself,  pallid,  bloodless,  with 
her  mother's  delicacy  of  feature,  and  with 
nothing  about  her  but  her  haughtiness  to 
distinguish  her  from  the  herd  of  young 
women.  He  had  one  Van  Nore  cousin,  a 
little  apple -blossom  hardly  coming  up  to 
the  family  requirements.  He  had  four  Van 
Nore  spinster  aunts,  who,  if  they  quarrelled 
among  themselves  like  birds  in  a  wood, 
presented  an  unbroken  phalanx  of  family 
integrity  to  the  public,  and  who,  with  the 
idea  that  they  had  the  manners  of  duchess 
es,  really  gave  some  reason  to  believe  them 
directly  descended  from  the  Patriarch,  they 
looked  so  extremely  like  the  wooden  wom 
en  in  the  children's  toy  arks.  His  father 
embodied  all  the  dignity,  pomposity,  and 
grandeur  of  all  the  Van  Nores  before  him, 
as  if  he  were  the  flame  of  their  ashes ;  he 
had  but  one  gift,  and  that  was  a  faculty  for 


MR.  VAN    NORE'S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW     269 

satirical  speech,  which  he  exercised  with 
impunity  upon  his  wife  —  his  wife,  the  line 
of  whose  descent  was  so  long  that  it  had 
worn  to  a  colorless,  attenuated  thread  in 
her ;  a  thin,  pale,  languid  woman,  of  whose 
condition  it  expressed  little  to  say  she 
dared  not  call  her  soul  her  own,  because, 
in  looking  at  her,  or  looking  through  her, 
rather,  it  was  not  clear  that  she  had  a  soul 
—  a  woman  without  intellect,  without  indi 
viduality,  and  almost  without  vitality.  Into 
this  assemblage  Nore  Van  Nore  had  dared 
introduce  a  person  absolutely  without  a 
grandfather,  and  whose  grandfather,  had 
she  had  one,  would  have  been  named  Sha- 
cabac ! 

Mr.  Van  Nore  and  his  household  would 
treat  this  vile  and  vulgar  intriguer,  who  had 
thrust  herself  upon  them,  and  had  thought 
to  lift  herself  by  pulling  them  down,  as  she 
deserved.  In  their  heart  of  hearts  they  had 
a  complete,  if  inarticulate,  consciousness 
that  no  one  could  have  married  the  bride 
groom  in  question  for  any  other  purpose. 
And  Nore  Van  Nore  received  a  letter  of 
repudiation  from  his  father,  disowning  and 


270  MR.  VAN  NORES  DAUGHTER- IN  LAW 

casting  him  forever  into  the  outer  darkness 
of  the  world  of  people  who  were  not  Van 
Nores. 

And  who  was  Nore  Van  Nore?  He  was  a 
young  man  of  twenty-six  years,  whose  men 
tal  processes  had  mastered  the  rudiments 
of  learning  to  such  an  extent  that  he  could 
read  the  newspaper  and  could  make  change. 
All  attempts  to  cultivate  those  mental  proc 
esses  much  further  had  failed  ;  if  he  en 
tered  the  university  at  last,  it  was  because 
tutors  and  proctors  and  family  influence,  a 
fortuitous  chance,  and  perhaps  money,  all 
wrought  together.  Entrance  was  all,  how 
ever.  Before  the  first  term  closed  Mr.  Van 
Nore  had  private  but  authoritative  informa 
tion  that  unless  he  wanted  expulsion  for — 
stupidity  approaching  imbecility  were  not 
the  exact  words  —  he  had  better  withdraw 
his  son.  In  a  hot  and  self  -  righteous 
fury  Mr.  Van  Nore  turned  the  tables 
and  expelled  the  university.  He  with 
drew  his  son  with  a  wild  show  of  anger 
and  scorn  for  faculty,  curriculum,  endow 
ment,  and  career.  "  They  have  graduated 
no  man  who  comes  to  anything  in  the  last 


MR.  VAN    NORE  S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW     271 

twenty-five  years  !"  he  said.  And  that  the 
matter  might  be  the  sooner  forgotten,  he 
gave  Mr.  Nore  Van  Nore  a  purse  and  a 
travelling  companion,  and  despatched  him 
to  the  Far  West.  It  was  probably  but  a  case 
of  retarded  development ;  perhaps  he  would 
do  a  little  exploring  and  discovering;  when 
he  should  return  the  affair  would  have  quite 
blown  over,  and  he  would  marry  him  to 
some  maiden  who  had  been  so  well  brought 
up  that  she  would  feel  herself  taking  a 
proper  place  among  dominations,  princes, 
and  powers  by  marrying  a  Van  Nore  of  any 
calibre.  All  the  same,  he  did  not  fail  to 
make  his  wife's  life  a  burden  to  her  by  sar 
casms  on  her  feeble  wit  that  had  been 
strong  enough  to  adulterate  the  strength  of 
the  Van  Nore ;  while  the  very  sense  of  his 
son's  incapacity,  thus  forced  upon  him,  was 
another  argument  against  the  woman  who 
would  marry  an  imbecile  for  the  sake  of 
climbing  into  his  rank  and  position. 

It  was  not  altogether  to  be  wondered  at, 
then,  if  his  wife  did  not  fully  sympathize 
with  him  in  this  extremity,  and  if,  being  of 
an  affectionate  disposition — so  far  as  she 


272     MR.  VAN    NORE  S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

had  anything  to  impart,  having  imparted 
that  also  to  her  son — she  wrote  a  little  sur 
reptitious  letter — she  who  had  usually  not  a 
thought  nor  a  deed  nor  an  emotion  of  her 
own  : 

"  MY  DARLING  BOY, — I  send  you  all  my  love. 
Any  wife  you  choose  to  marry  will  be  the  dear 
daughter  of  your  mother." 

That  was  the  letter  written  so  secretly ;  it 
meant  volumes  to  her  ;  it  meant  volumes  to 
her  boy.  She  was  frightened  to  a  trem 
bling  ghost  of  her  ghost-like  self  when  she 
stopped  the  carriage  and  asked  the  footman 
to  drop  it  in  a  street-box,  for  she  felt  that 
if  her  husband  knew  it  it  would  not  be  im 
possible  for  him  to  blow  out  her  flickering 
rlame  of  life  altogether,  or  stamp  its  feeble 
spark  into  the  earth.  He  never  had  struck 
her;  but  she  never  knew  what  he  might  do 
yet. 

The  father's  letter,  when  it  came,  was  not 
at  all  unexpected  by  Hero  Van  Nore ;  nor 
was  the  mother's  a  surprise.  She  was  a 
girl  of  twenty,  superbly  tall  and  fair.  Her 
mouldings  would  have  fed  a  sculptor's  eye 


MR.  VAN    NORE'S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW     273 

with  rapture,  her  coloring  would  have  driven 
wild  another  than  Titian ;  the  great  braids 
upon  her  head  seemed  made  of  strands  of 
spun  gold ;  she  wore  them  like  a  crown,  as 
became  a  daughter  of  the  royal  tribe  of 
Judah — she  was  undoubtedly  a  Jewess — 
but  as  Miriam,  as  Deborah,  as  Susannah 
may  have  done  she  had  the  large  beauty 
of  that  Clytie  in  her  sunflower  whom  some 
think  to  be  Isis  in  her  lotus.  She  waited  in 
her  father's  shop ;  and  she  sold  Mr.  Van 
Nore  a  pair  of  gloves  there. 

He  had  given  his  purse,  with  his  conge, 
some  time  since  to  his  travelling  companion, 
and  he  was  waiting  in  this  little  place  till 
he  should  receive  a  fresh  remittance  from 
his  father.  When  he  saw  Hero  he  had 
something  else  to  wait  for.  He  hung  round 
the  shop  corners,  and  when  she  went  home 
he  followed  her.  Vera  incessn  patuit  dea — 
she  stepped  as  if  the  earth  were  air ;  he  said 
to  himself  that  it  was  because  his  heart  was 
under  her  feet.  He  knew  intuitively  that 
she  would  not  give  him  a  second  look. 
What  were  the  Van  Nores  out  here  in  the 
wilderness  ?  He  was  able  to  see,  for  all  his 


274     MR-  VAN    NORE  S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

deficiency,  that  she  was  on  a  higher  plane 
of  being  than  his  own.  But  if  he  could  not 
hope  he  could  at  least  suffer  ;  he  could  gaze 
at  the  star  he  might  not  win.  He  bought 
another  pair  of  gloves.  Ah,  heavens !  to 
feel  the  touch  of  those  pointed  fingers  of 
hers  as  they  stretched  the  kid  from  side  to 
side  on  his  hand !  The  next  day  he  bought 
another  pair.  Before  he  was  through  he 
had  bought  the  whole  stock  of  gloves  in 
the  shop. 

Of  course  this  attracted  her  attention, 
and  she  made  some  inquiry  concerning  him. 
"  You  had  better  go  away,"  she  said,  when 
he  came  in  again.  "  You  do  not  need  gloves, 
or  ties,  or  any  of  our  goods.  You  are  mak 
ing  yourself  ridiculous." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  he  re 
plied.  "  I  was  made  so  when  I  was  born." 

And  so  one  word  led  to  another,  and  in 
the  course  of  time  he  had  told  his  story, 
which  somehow  seemed  full  of  wrongs 
—  the  story  of  a  rather  feeble  -  minded 
youth  who  had  been  browbeaten  and  ill- 
used  by  a  disappointed  father  from  his 
birth.  Her  heart  was  stirred  with  pity ;  she 


MR.  VAN    NORE  S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW     275 

let  him  come  to  the  house.  Hope  bounded 
within  him.  If  the  star  should  fall  from 
the  sky  to  his  arms  !  He  wrote  his  father — 
I  forgot  to  say  that  he  could  write — that  he 
wanted  his  influence  to  help  him  marry  the 
most  lovely,  the  most  virtuous,  the  most 
brilliant  of  women,  who  waited  behind  the 
counter  of  her  father's  little  Jew-shop.  The 
answer  to  his  letter  made  his  hair  stand  on 
end.  Sneering,  vindictive,  cruel,  threaten 
ing.  What  should  he  do  but  show  it  to 
her  ?  Her  blood  would  have  been  cold  and 
thin  stuff  had  that  not  made  it  boil.  "  I 
can  never  go  back  to  him,"  said  Nore.  "  I 
never  will  go  back  to  him.  It  is  the  last 
blow  he  shall  strike  me." 

"  Would  you  be  happier  here  in  the  shop 
helping  me  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Beyond  measure  !"  he  cried. 

So  she  told  him  to  see  her  father  that 
night.  She  meant  about  the  situation.  He 
meant  about  a  wife.  And  her  father,  in  as 
good  and  strong  contempt  as  Mr.  Van  Nore 
himself  could  feel,  ordered  the  fellow  from 
the  house. 

"  The  worthless  varlet !"   cried   the   old 


276     MR.  VAN    NORE  S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

man.  "  Can  he  earn  his  salt  ?  What  do  I 
care  for  his  name  and  his  family  and  his 
entailed  moneys — the  dog  of  a  Christian  ! 
He  can  have  them  all ;  but  he  cannot  marry 
my  girl  to  an  idiot !" 

"He  is  not  an  idiot,  father,"  said  Hero. 
"  There  is  more  in  him  than  any  see,"  and 
she  calmly  canvassed  the  subject.  "  He 
has  been  made  to  look  up  till  he  does  not 
know  how  to  look  straight  ahead.  Some 
day  he  will  assert  himself — " 

"  You  ?"  said  her  father.  "  You  ?  I  be 
lieve  you  care  for  the  lout !  When  you  have 
sweethearts  to  fill  a  regimeni !  When  you 
can  marry  any  man  in  the  county !" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sorry 
for  him.  I  care  to  have  him  happy — he 
has  had  so  much  unhappiness."  And  at 
that  moment  they  heard  a  groan  outside, 
and  they  ran  to  the  door  to  pick  up  Nore 
Van  Nore,  helpless  and  just  returning  to 
consciousness,  with  a  broken  leg. 

Hero  installed  herself  as  his  chief  attend 
ant.  In  the  long  hours  of  patient  pain,  in 
the  devotedness  of  his  silent  worship  for 
her,  something  stirred  her  heart  that  was 


MR.  VAN    NORE'S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW     277 

not  pity.  Heaven  knows  what  it  was ! 
There  are  some  strong  natures  that  must 
wrap  themselves  about  the  weak.  The  first 
time  that  he  could  stand  upon  his  feet 
again  they  were  married.  And  then  Nore 
Van  Nore  went  down  to  help  her  wait  be 
hind  the  counter  in  the  shop,  where  she 
consulted  him  and  referred  to  him  and 
honored  him  till  she  was  likely  to  make 
others  share  the  strange  respect  she  had 
for  him.  "  He  is  single-hearted,"  she  said 
to  one  of  her  old  lovers  in  that  primitive 
community,  who  felt  the  right  to  make  some 
outspoken  complaint.  "  He  is  upright.  He 
is  unselfish.  He  is  kind  to  the  fly  on  the 
wall.  He  loves  me  and  no  other.  What 
more  do  I  want  in  a  husband  ?  He  suits 
me.  And  as  for  his  religion,  what  does 
that  signify  when,  at  any  rate,  we  both  wor 
ship  the  same  God  ?" 

A  year  from  that  time  Hero  did  not  go 
to  the  shop  much  ;  she  had  a  little  son — 
and  not  such  a  very  little  one  either — a 
bouncing,  magnificent  boy,  with  his  moth 
er's  colors  and  eyes,  full  of  life  and  joy  and 
spirit,  and  quite  the  most  remarkable  baby 


278     MR.  VAN    NORE  S   DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

in  the  world.  And  so,  when  the  child  was 
six  months  old,  it  seemed  to  Nore  Van 
Nore,  in  his  happiness,  that  he  was  wrong 
to  deprive  his  family  of  the  blessing  of 
knowing  of  such  a  blessing,  and  he  wrote 
home  for  the  third  time;  but  this  time  to 
his  mother. 

This  was  shaking  the  red  rag  in  the  face 
of  the  bull.  Mr.  Van  Nore  trampled  up 
and  down  his  wife's  sitting-room  awhile, 
reared  and  stamped  and  snorted  and  bel 
lowed,  and  not  till  he  had  reduced  her  to 
tears  for  having  brought  such  a  son  into 
the  world,  and  had  pursued  it  till  she 
gasped  for  breath,  and  had  to  have  the 
maids  and  ether  and  hot  bottles,  did  he 
subside  into  silence  and  thought. 

That  this  son  of  a  beggarly  shop-girl  of  a 
Jewess  should  be  the  Van  Nore  !  Never, 
never,  if  he  had  to  put  out  the  light  of  all 
the  Van  Nores  at  once  !  Jocelyne,  his  el 
dest  daughter,  should  marry  young  De  Vere, 
and  he  should  take  the  name  of  Van  Nore. 
For  a  sum  of  money  Nore  should  break  the 
entail  and  renounce  his  name,  taking,  in 
stead,  that  of  his  low-born  wife.  And  so 


MR.  VAN    NORE'S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW     279 

Jocelyne's  son,  who  was  a  foregone  conclu 
sion  in  Mr.  Van  Nore's  mind,  should  be 
the  great  Van  Nore  to  come.  He  had  a 
satchel  packed  within  an  hour,  and  he 
slept  that  night,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  in  a  vulgar  sleeping-car,  always  before 
having  left  the  train  at  nightfall  rather 
than  be  one  of  the  promiscuous  canaille 
sleeping  a  common  sleep.  Days  and  nights 
and  days  and  nights  of  this  wretched  con 
tiguity.  It  was  a  hard  experience  for  Mr. 
Van  Nore.  He  added  it  all  up  against 
his  son.  And  the  selfishness  of  the  mod 
ern  traveller  did  not  tend  to  increase  his 
appreciation  of  his  kind.  His  kind  ?  Not 
the  least  bit  his  kind !  Mr.  Van  Nore  was 
more  than  ever  persuaded  that  he  was  a 
superior  integer  of  the  race — marking,  per 
haps,  one  of  those  points  of  progress  from 
which  one  development  steps  to  a  higher. 

At  last  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  his 
daughter-in-law. 

A  shapeless  little  greasy  Jewess,  selling 
old  clothes  —  or  a  stately  young  goddess 
assuming  a  human  smile  ?  One  convulsive 
sensation  thrilled  across  him  of  pride  in 


280     MR.  VAN    NORE  S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

Nore's  taste  at  least,  souring  instantly  to 
anger  to  think  that  taste  was  all.  And  then 
he  opened  the  subject. 

"  No,  father-in-law,"  said  Hero,  firmly, 
despite  his  wincing,  and  after  the  fashion 
of  speech  in  use  among  her  people  —  "no, 
father-in-law.  We  do  not  want  your  money. 
Nor  will  we  surrender  our  name.  It  is  our 
name  by  all  right  and  law  that  it  is  yours. 
And,  as  for  your  grandson,  we  have  no 
power  to  forswear  his  birthright  for  our 
mess  of  pottage." 

It  was  a  will  as  strong  as  his  own  that 
opposed  him.  Storming  was  of  no  use 
here.  He  left  the  house  without  another 
word,  and  left  Hero  dancing  her  crowing 
boy  in  the  broad  transfiguring  sunbeam, 
looking  up  proudly  at  her  husband,  yet 
fondly,  to  see  if  really  she  and  the  boy 
compensated  him  for  all  he  had  lost. 

An  hour  afterwards  Mr.  Van  Nore  was 
brought  back  to  his  son  on  a  stretcher.  Two 
trains  had  collided,  and  he  was  among  the 
killed  and  wounded.  An  artery  had  been 
nearly  severed,  and  before  a  physician  could 
reach  him  he  was  bleeding  to  death. 


MR.  VAN    NORE'S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW     28 1 

When  at  length  the  flow  was  stanched, 
and  he  lay  fainting  and  sinking  away,  "  It 
is  almost  hopeless,"  said  the  surgeon. 
"  There  is  little  blood  left  in  his  body." 

The  sight  of  his  dying  father  had  changed 
the  current  of  Nore's  irate  feeling.  "  If  I 
could  but  give  him  mine  !"  he  cried. 

"  It  would  do  him  small  good,"  said  the 
doctor,  looking  at  the  pale  and  spindling  fel 
low  with  an  anatomist's  contempt.  And  from 
him  the  glance  travelled  to  Hero,  standing 
near  in  her  abundant  life,  with  the  dancing 
boy  in  her  arms,  still  followed  by  the  sun 
beam.  Hero  read  the  glance  in  a  moment, 
and  had  given  the  child  to  her  husband. 

"  Here,  doctor,"  she  said,  baring  an  arm 
that  Hebe,  carrying  life  and  nectar  to  the 
gods,  might  have  lifted. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  means  for  you," 
said  the  doctor,  "  and  for  your  child,  per 
haps  ?  Loss  of  strength,  it  may  be  of 
health-" 

"I  know  it  is  my  husband's  father,  my 
child's  grandparent,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  If 
my  blood  can  save  him,  it  is  right  that  he 
should  have  it."  And  when  she  came  to 


282     MR.  VAN    NORE'S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

herself  after  the  first  fainting-fit  of  her  life, 
save  for  fatigue  and  languor,  she  did  not 
know  that  she  felt  much  the  worse,  and  her 
father-in-law  was  smiling  at  her  with  lustre 
in  the  eyes  that  she  so  lately  saw  nearly  set 
in  death. 

Strange  and  awful  moment  to  Hero  !  She 
had  given  life  to  this  man.  She  had  gone 
behind  the  veil  of  death  and  darkness,  and 
worked  with  the  forces  of  creation.  There 
was  a  bond  between  her  and  him  such  as 
there  could  be  between  no  other  people  in 
the  world.  For  half  a  fainting  heart-beat 
she  thought  she  had  made  him ;  for  half  as 
long  again  he  thought  she  had.  She  felt 
her  heart  irradiate  with  a  tender  warmth 
towards  her  husband's  father.  She  fell  on 
her  knees  beside  him  and  kissed  his  hand. 
"Oh,  my  father,"  she  said,  "you  must  for 
give  us,  for  we  love  you !" 

As  for  Mr.  Van  Nore,  I  never  saw  any 
body  happier  than  he  was,  some  weeks 
afterwards,  on  his  way  home  with  his  party. 
His  son  accompanied  him,  with  the  nurse 
of  a  superb  rosy  baby  folded  in  white  fleecy 
wools,  and  a  lady,  stately  as  any  princess 


MR.  VAN    NORE'S    DAUGHTER-IN-LAW     283 

ought  to  be,  but  seldom  is,  with  her  black 
fox  robes  about  her.  "  She  is  very  teach 
able."  thought  Mr.  Van  Nore.  "  A  month 
of  our  life  will  give  her  all  the  savoir 
faire  she  needs.  Her  tact  is  inestimable." 
And  then  he  wondered  if  she  could  hold  her 
own  with  Jocelyne.  "  My  grandson,  the  fut 
ure  Van  Nore,"  he  said  to  every  acquaint 
ance  he  came  across,  and  they  all  seemed 
to  be  travelling  on  various  portions  of  that 
trip.  "  Hero,  my  dear !  My  daughter-in- 
law,  Mrs.  Van  Nore.  My  daughter-in-law. 
A  great  addition  to  our  circle,  I  assure  you. 
An  old  family,  an  old  family.  We — we  are 
not  exactly,  so  to  say,  related,  but  we — 
we — we  have  some  of  the  same  blood  in 
our  veins !" 


THE    END 


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